


What Lies Beneath

by Lannister418



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Clint Barton, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Clint Feels, Clint Has Issues, Clint Needs a Hug, Consensual Sex, F/M, Hurt Clint Barton, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Murder, Nick Fury Lies, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Relationship(s), Sick Clint Barton, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 35
Words: 112,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9367127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lannister418/pseuds/Lannister418
Summary: Three months after the Battle of New York; Sara Wolfe, a junior saleswoman at an exclusive New York gallery, is invited to a dinner party at Stark Tower where she discovers the truth about her new boyfriend.What seems like the start of an exciting double life for the young woman quickly turns into a nightmare, as a carefully buried secret begins to re-emerge and the Avengers discover just what S.H.I.E.L.D. is capable of.When S.H.I.E.L.D. falls, Sara and her older sister Beth find themselves in deadly peril from HYDRA and the remaining factions of the collapsed intelligence organisation.  A rogue Clint Barton emerges from hiding to come to their aid, together with another dangerous, wanted fugitiveTrigger Warnings at the start of each chapter





	1. A Hawkward Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Explicit consensual sex.

“Isn’t that Tony Stark?” Becky whispered to Sara, nodding in the direction of the dark-haired man who’d just entered the door of Galeria Rossi.  The other woman looked up from opening the parcel of new catalogues that had just arrived.  It could be, she thought, he had the distinctive goatee and his clothes were well cut and expensive, but since the Battle of New York almost three months ago ‘Iron Man Chic’ had become something of the thing among bachelors of a certain age.

“I’d say yes” she whispered back “but only because of the way the Gorgon’s descending on him”

Ms Gorgetti, one of the senior sales staff, hovered round the man; her eyes glowing with the thought of commission to be earned.  The gallery was less than a block from ground zero and had taken heavy damage during the battle.  Even once the initial clear up was completed, extensive refurbishment had been required and they only re-opened last month.  Sales were proving sluggish and Signor Rossi was dropping ominous hints about ‘downsizing’. 

The man politely but emphatically waved her away and continued browsing. Ms Gorgetti redirected her attention to the two women at the desk.

“Ms Wolfe, do you think you can manage to put the new catalogues out without assistance?”

“I’ll get onto it right away” Sara replied with a pleasant smile, the Gorgon was clearly in one of her moods today.  The older woman narrowed her eyes slightly and turned to the other

“Ms Logan, if you’re not too busy updating your status I suggest you remember what you’re paid for and see to the orders folder?”

Definitely in one of her moods…

“Excuse me, Ms… Wolfe?” The man who might be Tony Stark peered at her name badge as she finished arranging the catalogues “Could you possibly tell me a little about this piece?”

He indicated an arrangement of strung-together coat hangers, covered in sequins, swinging lazily in the faint breeze from the air-conditioning

“Of course, Mr Stark” she said, noting the glint of satisfaction in his eyes “It’s Julian Holt’s latest work, Galaxy 17, the artist is trying to capture the fragile, ephemeral nature of the new universe we find ourselves in and the superficial glamour we attach to it…”

She carried on in the same vein for a couple of minutes while Stark attempted to look gravely attentive to the stream of hip platitudes, feeling the corners of his mouth twitching.  The woman was in her early 20s, pretty and lively, in white silk blouse and tan slacks with her blondish red hair in a fashionably retro 40s style.  That decade had been a glamourous one for women, he could imagine her as the ingénue in some gritty film noir.   Eventually he murmured, too low for anyone other than her to hear

“You think it’s a heap of crap as well, don’t you?”

Sara kept her face perfectly straight and replied in a similar quiet voice

“Give it a month and you’ll have a pile of wire hangers and a carpet full of sequins. Would you like to see something less ‘fragile’?”

She directed the still-smiling Stark’s attention to several of the more durable, classic, pieces the gallery had on display.  The Gorgon hovered nervously in the background.  A good sale would make a difference to both women.  The gallery rule was that commission over a certain amount had to be split with the senior salesperson on duty, and a good sale to Tony Stark was almost guaranteed to bring in a fresh wave of wealthy patrons.

“Excellent!” Stark was positively beaming “I’ll take them”

“Which ones, Mr Stark?” asked Sara

“Oh, all the pieces you showed me, including the Holt; you never know when coat hangers will come in handy” he pulled a matt black credit card out of his wallet “One condition…”

“Condition, Mr Stark?” She could feel Gorgetti stiffening up behind her

“Yes, I’m having a little dinner party on Saturday; just some close friends, and I would like you to join us so you can explain the pieces to them as charmingly as you have to me.  They’re artistic illiterates I’m afraid.”

His smile was still pleasant, but quite firm, this was clearly a non-negotiable.  She glanced at the Gorgon whose expression seemed to say ‘you like to eat and pay rent, don’t you?’

“Certainly, Mr Stark” she replied, taking his credit card “It’d be my pleasure.”

###

“Dinner with Tony Stark, what will Clint think?” 

Sara sighed as she sorted through her dresses, trying to decide what was ‘smart-casual’ enough for dinner at Stark Tower.  Beth wasn’t even attempting to hide the sarcasm in her voice

“It’s a dinner party, not a candlelight supper, and his girlfriend’s going to be there” she reminded her older sister “besides, Clint’s away on assignment and won’t be back till tomorrow.”

“Of course, ‘assignment’” was Beth’s laconic response.

Beth still had a huge question-mark over the man her little sister had been dating for the past month, ever since that soppy dog of his had gone running into the gallery during the relaunch party and cut his paw on a broken wineglass.  He seemed pleasant enough, and good looking in a quirky way, but very reticent about his past and what it was he did for a living.  Other than vague generalities and hints of military connections he’d carefully avoided any questions about that. And then there was the age difference.  It didn’t matter how nice the guy was, a 41-year-old dating a 24-year-old just seemed creepy.  She saw her sister’s expression.

“I’m sorry, Sara, I’m not trying to be a bitch…” Beth smiled apologetically “He probably is a really genuine guy but I’m worried he might turn out to be trouble.  You’ve admitted he doesn’t talk about himself much…”

“Which is a change from most men” Sara said, settling on the dark green sweater dress with a rose jacket. “I know you mean well, I just wish you’d give him a bit of a break.”

Beth sat down on the bed and took Sara’s hand

“I’m your big sister, it’s my job to worry about you” she saw the book and dvd sitting on the nightstand “Why’re you learning sign language?”

“Clint’s deaf, he just has really good hearing aids.  I’m learning it as a surprise for him” It was Sara’s turn to smile “See? He does tell me things…”

###

“Ms Wolfe! So glad you could make it!” Mr Stark took Sara’s hand as she came out of the elevator into a glassed-off lobby and led her towards a wide, open-plan area from which the sound of conversation could be heard

“I couldn’t really refuse the invitation; could I Mr Stark?” she answered, laughing

“Please, call me Tony” he insisted “and permit me to call you Sara.  We’re all very informal here.”

Two men and two women were seated on low couches in front of a large stone fireplace

“Everyone!” Tony called as he escorted her down the steps towards them “This is Ms Sara Wolfe, our art expert.  Call her Sara and try not to scare her too much.”

The older of the two women stood up with a welcoming smile

“I’m Pepper, it’s a real pleasure to meet you Sara”

Pepper made the introductions while Tony fixed them drinks.  Steve Rogers was open, friendly and courteous, Bruce Banner a little more shy and wary of prolonged eye contact; Natasha Romanoff pleasant but slightly distant.  It felt as if the woman was assessing her but hadn’t yet reached a conclusion.  As Tony brought the drinks over she felt she had to get the elephant in the room out the way.  As soon as Sara stepped through into the room she was pretty certain who these people were and she could tell from their gaze they knew that.

“This feels a bit embarrassing… but… I just want to say thank you.” She looked down at her hands, aware of their scrutiny and the blush on her cheeks “I work not too far from here, none of us would have made it if it weren’t for you.”

Steve raised his glass in a grateful salute

“That’s very kind of you, Sara.  I’m glad you got out safe.”

“Well” said Tony cheerfully, passing out the last of the drinks “That’s the inevitable done. How about food?”

There was a thunder of paws on hardwood and a shaggy brown Labrador galloped out of the lobby and over to Sara, nosing at her hands in search of a treat.

“Lucky?” she gasped in astonishment.  Lucky yipped in excitement, he hadn’t expected to see Master’s new friend here.

A familiar, aggrieved sounding, voice could be heard coming up the stairs and into the lobby

“Stark! Why the hell are all my hangers covered in sequi… Sara?”

Clint was at the top of the steps, still in grubby black combat gear, staring at her open-eyed and open-mouthed.  The others were all looking directly at Stark

“Oh, you two know each other?” he asked with feigned innocence.  Steve sighed and shook his head

“Tony…” growled Clint in clear annoyance as he came down the steps and headed over. Tony shrugged

“Okay, I found out that Clint’s been dating and thought it was past time we were all introduced” He looked apologetically at Sara “But I do really like the art you picked for me.”

Clint came up to Sara, nervousness and embarrassment taking over, looking down at his boots while Lucky jumped and ‘wuffed’ around them.

“Well!” said Pepper, with a brittle smile, nodding the others pointedly towards the terrace “Now that Tony's made everything magnificently awkward for everyone yet again, I think we should give Clint and Sara a few moments.”

Natasha was the last to leave, as if reluctant for them to be alone together.  Clint took a deep breath, still staring at his boots.

“Sara… I…” he began, struggling for words. 

“You’re with the Avengers” she finished for him “Not Thor I’m guessing?”

“’Fraid not, no!” that made him laugh a little “I’m just the guy with the bow and arrow.”

“That explains these” she took his hand, running her thumb over the calluses “and I saw what you did, you’re more than ‘just’ anything.”

“I couldn’t… I…” The words were still hard to say, like his tongue was tripping over his teeth.  Sara kept holding his hand, looking at him with gentle encouragement.  Finally, he managed to blurt it out

“I wanted you to know me, I mean the real me; not the guy in the suit.” He looked at her and she could feel his anxiety and uncertainty “I need you to, because…  ‘cause sometimes it feels like I don’t, and when I’m round you I feel kinda complete.”

There is was again, that sense of something lost or missing inside him; the sadness he couldn’t understand. She took his face in her hands and kissed him

“I think I am getting to know the real you” she said softly “and I think I like him, a lot.”

He smiled for the first time, the tension disappearing from his face, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“You look really beautiful tonight, Sara.” He murmured “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Clint.” She rested her head on his shoulder, he smelled of damp earth and sweat, strong but oddly not unpleasant.

“Awww baby, I must stink” he said, then leaned his head against hers “All I wanna do is grab a shower and go to bed.  Sound like a plan?”

It sounded like a very good plan

“What about them?” she asked, glancing towards the group on the terrace

“Don’t worry” he grinned “They’ll just be pissed off at Stark for a while and we can do a real dinner some other night… if you want.”

They went and said goodnight to the others.  Tony, having had a good talking to from Pepper and Steve, was apologetic and embarrassed; assuring her yet again that he genuinely liked the pieces he’d bought.  The others were pleasant and understanding, urging her to come back again if she wanted, and together she and Clint headed down the stairs; Lucky trotting beside them.

“Tony lets me use one of the guest apartments” he explained “He’s an asshole, but a generous one.”

“I don’t think he expected his little game to go down so badly” she laughed “I felt a bit sorry for him”

Clint kissed her on the cheek

“He’s a good guy, really, just doesn’t always think his jokes through all the way sometimes.”

As soon as the apartment door closed behind them she pulled him to her and kissed him again, hard, her hands slipping inside his jacket to caress the firm, taut muscle of his chest.  He nuzzled against her neck, letting his own hands travel over the curves of her slender back.

“Lemme grab a shower…” he whispered.  She shook her head

“Now” Sara insisted, pulling his jacket back from his shoulders “Stinking and fresh from the fight.”

Clint looked at her in surprise, a slow smile spreading across his lips.  This was one of his ultimate fantasies about to come true

“Awww, Sara….” He moaned, voice hoarse with lust, and began pulling at her dress.  She raised her arms so he could get it all the way off then stepped back so he could see her properly; dressed only in bra, panties, stockings and heels.  Her hair fell in heavy, golden-red, curls over her shoulders and breasts.  He stared at her, breathing heavily, unable to remember the last time he had wanted someone so much.  He tugged his jacket all the way off, then grabbed her into his arms, kissing hungrily down to her breasts while grabbing her smooth, perfect ass in both hands; pressing her close so she could feel his own intense excitement.

Sara hooked her leg around his and ground her hips against him

“Hawkeye…” she gasped

Hearing his codename on her lips drove him crazy.  Clint picked her up and half laid, half threw her onto the bed, dropping to his knees and tearing at the lace panties with both hands.  They looked expensive but he didn’t give a fuck right now and the delicate fabric ripped easily in his strong grip.

He began to kiss and lick along the soft skin of her inner thighs, letting his hands wander up her belly to slip under her bra. Clint could feel Sara writhe as his callused thumbs gently teased at her nipples.  She moaned ‘Hawkeye’ again as his tongue found its target, probing firmly inside her as he skilfully explored her slit.  He loved how she tasted, warm and sweet like honey, and the eager, urgent way her body responded.

Her fingers tangled in his untidy, brownish-blond hair as his lips closed firmly about her clit and he flicked at it with the tip of his tongue.  Her legs wrapped around his chest and she gave a soft, high, squeal like a seagull in flight.  It had been days since he came, the pressure of his erection against his zipper almost painful.  He wanted her as close as possible before the big moment.

“Hawk… please… Now…” Sara gasped, her fingers twisting in his hair.  Clint freed one hand from under her bra and began tugging at his pants, swearing under his breath as his own fingers turned to thumbs fumbling at belt and zipper.  Eventually he succeeded and his thick, hard, cock sprang free.  He raised himself up and pulled Sara closer to him.

“You ready, baby?” he whispered, gazing into her eyes “I ain’t gonna last long like this…”

Her only response was a breathless nod and he pushed forward

“Awwwww, fuck….” Clint groaned as Sara’s tight, velvety warmth closed around him.  She said she’d only ever had one man before him and he had no problem believing that.  He held himself still for a moment, his forehead resting on hers, holding her gaze with an intense passion and desire, then began to move his hips; slowly at first but quickly building in speed and intensity as she clung to him, biting and clawing at his neck and shoulders.

Sara could tell from Clint’s breathing and the urgency of his movements that he was close and she could feel her own orgasm building as if feeding from his mounting pressure. He’d lifted her almost completely off the bed, fucking her with hard, desperate thrusts; kissing her roughly, fiercely, as her body tightened around his.  She could feel him swelling inside her as the moment of release came and threw back her head, screaming, moments before his own hoarse, guttural cry and the warm pulsing within.

They collapsed onto the bed, tangled in each other’s arms and legs and lay there breathless for a while.  Clint moved a few strands of hair away from Sara’s face and kissed her softly

“Wow!” he gasped “How was that for an opening number?”

She laughed and kissed him back

“Well, if the main show doesn’t involve at least one song-and-dance number and a costume change I’m going to be very disappointed.”

Clint grinned, swinging his feet of the bed he started unlacing his boots

“I dunno about the dance, but the song’s a possibility” he nodded towards his kitbag in the far corner of the room “As for the costume change?  After we shower I can always suit up and give you the full Hawkeye Experience.”

###

Clint woke up with a start, heart racing.  The nightmare was already slipping away, all he could remember was blood, and someone screaming.  He sat up carefully. Sara still fast asleep beside him. Even without his hearing aids he could tell her breathing was shallow and gentle from the way her breast moved.  He’d hated to have disturbed her just for a stupid dream.  The clock by the bed said 3:45 am, he pulled on his boxers and crept to the bathroom, waiting till the door was closed before turning on the light.  Maybe he was still only half awake, but he almost expected to see his face and hands spattered with blood in the mirror.  There was nothing but his own reflection, staring drowsily back at him.  Yeah, just another nightmare.

 


	2. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to be honest with your big sister when you're boyfriend's job is top secret. That's the challenge Sara faces as she and Clint push on regardless.  
> Natasha gets charged by Fury to keep an eye on things while Steve and Clint share a buddy moment and Clint's bad dream just keeps getting worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sections in Italic are direct internal dialogue  
> Sections in bold are text messaging  
> Sections in bold italic are ASL signings - these have been presented in the form of standard English for ease of dialogue. I am aware that the structure of ASL is differently from this in real life practice.

“Dinner so good you forgot how to text?”

_Shit_

Beth’s light, casual, tone told Sara exactly how pissed her big sister felt this morning.  She walked sheepishly through to the living room and hung her jacket over the back of a chair.  Beth was curled up on the couch with Tiger purring beside her.  The look in her eyes didn’t match the lightness of her voice

“I’m really sorry” Sara said nervously, hoping to avoid an argument “I got a call from Clint to say he was back a night early with some of his buddies, so after dinner I met them for a few drinks and sort of ended up at his place.”

“So, you met his friends?” Beth scratched Tiger behind his ears, still sounding worryingly casual “What’re they like?”

Sara had talked with Clint about what she could tell Beth.  Apart from Iron Man and Thor, none of the real identities of the Avengers were known to the public.  His suggestion had been to get as close to the truth as possible without, as he termed it, ‘putting them all in a shit-heap of trouble’.

“I met his C.O. and a couple of his team-mates” she replied “They were all nice guys.”

Beth looked at her carefully; Sara wasn’t exactly lying to her but she could tell the whole truth wasn’t coming out.  Maybe Clint was some sort of ‘Special Forces’ operative after all and Sara had to be careful what she said.  Still, Beth couldn’t shake the memory of the first night Clint stayed over and come wandering into the kitchen shirtless, not realising she hadn’t gone to bed yet.  She couldn’t help notice that Sara was right, the guy had an amazing body; but she also noticed the scars, knife and gunshot wounds mostly.  Her biggest fear was that the ‘special operations’ Clint took part in weren’t on the right side of the law.

“You still should have let me know” Beth said, and her voice was quieter; gently reproachful “I’ve been really worried.”

Sara felt a pang of guilt.  Beth had kinda been there for her every day since Mom and Dad died four years back.  She’d just been two years into college and it had torn her world apart.  Her big sister had helped her get the job at the gallery and let her share the apartment, without ever playing the ‘my house, my rules’ game.  It hurt that she clearly didn’t like or trust Clint, even more so now Sara knew why he had to be so secretive about his life, but she genuinely wasn’t trying to be a bitch and it wasn’t fair to act like she was.

“I’m really sorry, Beth; I didn’t mean to worry you” Sara put her arms around her sister and gave her a hug “I promise I’ll remember in future.”

Beth gave a good-natured grunt of acknowledgement; knowing full well the same thing would happen next time.

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me one thing” Beth said with a smile “Were any of the Avengers there?”

“That’s classified” laughed Sara, heading through to the kitchen to make coffee for them both “But Captain America has eyes you could drown in.”

Sara lay back on her bed after showering, practising a few basic signings.  Her hands and wrists were supple from years of piano playing so forming them felt quite easy; remembering them was the hard part.  Clint had told her about his deafness the first time they slept together; it had happened six years ago, when a concussion grenade had gone off too near his head and damaged his ears.  She could tell it was something he was still deeply self-conscious about and it touched her that he felt able to tell her.  He’d confided in her this morning that, apart from Natasha, none of his team mates knew yet and asked her to say nothing to them.  The last 24 hours felt strange and enticing; she seemed to have become part of a world of secrets and didn’t know whether to be excited or afraid.

Last night had been incredible; she’d only slept with Clint twice before.  Each time he’d been gentle, attentive and generous, more concerned with her own pleasure than his, while she’d been shy and almost submissive; afraid of seeming gauche or inexperienced.  Trent had been her only previous lover and had never taken her to the places Clint could.  Taking charge like that was so unlike her and yet felt so natural that the animal intensity of their passion still vibrated under her skin. 

Sara picked up her phone and texted him quickly

**You set me on fire last night. That was amazing**

A few minutes later her phone buzzed

**You’re the fire to my forest, baby. Love you loads!**

She paused, it was the first time he’d used the L-word like that.  Sara took a deep breath and plunged in

**Love you right back, Hot-Guy! Coffee later?**

The few, nerve-wracking minutes before his reply lasted forever

**Sure. Taking Lucky for a walk at 4 – come over for then? Pizza and movie after maybe?**

Sara smiled, sounded like the perfect Sunday evening; especially as Rossi had given her a long weekend as a ‘thank-you’ for the sale to Stark.  She made a mental note to text Beth if it turned out movies weren’t the only thing on Clint’s mind.

###

‘Thank you’ mouthed Clint as Sara handed him his essential morning coffee.  He turned to the nightstand to pick up his hearing aid case but she tapped him on the arm to get his attention.  Clint looked at her quizzically and then a broad smile lit up his face as she carefully signed

**_You’re welcome._ **

He pulled her towards him and kissed her for a long time, then sat up and signed back to her with equal care.

Sara laughed, even without knowing ASL she could easily have read what he’d just said

**_I love you too, Clint_** her hands replied.

###

Natasha had expected a call from Fury on Sunday but it was Tuesday afternoon before he contacted her, perhaps even the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. liked to take a day off now and again.  More likely he had just come back on-grid from wherever it was he had disappeared to this time.

He was waiting for her in the New York Field Office; as usual he got straight down to business without being troubled by pleasantries

“That’s the file on the Wolfe girl” he said, pushing it across the table “I want you to review it and keep an eye on her.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow and glanced through the file, quickly digesting its contents

_Sara Louise Wolfe, age 24.  Studied Theory of Modern Art at Yale, works at a trendy Manhattan gallery catering for the ever-changing tastes of rich New York hipsters.  Lives with her sister Elizabeth Margaret Wolfe, age 32, literary sub-editor for the New York Times, in an upcycled brownstone apartment in Brooklyn._

_Parents: Samuel and Elizabeth Wolfe, genetic researchers, deceased; killed in a car crash four years previously._

_No known political affiliations, no suspicious friends.  Seems to prefer Thai food and European art house movies._

On first review, there was nothing to suggest the girl was anything more than a typical example of the New York bourgeoisie, except for one thing.

“This file was started before Clint began dating her.”

Fury nodded

“We have strong reason to believe the deaths of Samuel and Elizabeth Wolfe were not accidental” he stated “They were engaged in several sensitive research projects, including one which also involved Dr Bruce Banner; you might want to ask him about that…”

“So why the interest in the daughters?” asked Natasha “Neither of them appear to have any scientific inclination whatsoever, or is there something else?”

Fury sighed inwardly, despite everything they had learned over the past years; some things still felt like carnival hocus pocus

“The mother was briefly considered for the Index” he admitted “but if she had abilities they were not the sort that could readily be quantified or demonstrated to any accepted standard of proof at the time.”

Natasha's eyebrow raised again

“The mother’s file is level 8 classification” Fury told her “But I’ve had the essential excerpts extracted for you.”

He passed another folder across and she looked through it

“Empathy? Telepathy” She laughed “Fury, you can’t be serious?”

Fury’s expression remained impassive

“Ever since we had figures from Norse mythology running around and opening gateways to other dimensions I’ve become a lot more open minded about what I take seriously.” He sat down and suddenly seemed tired and haunted “Given what’s happened we can’t afford to take any chances. If this girl’s mother did have these sorts of abilities and she’s inherited them…”

“…then you think this could affect Clint’s ‘cognitive recalibration’?”

After the Battle of New York, and everything that happened before it, Clint had been taken into an intensive debriefing programme.  Natasha hadn’t seen or heard from him in over 6 weeks, and when he did re-appear he was a bit ‘different’.  The others would never have noticed; they’d hadn’t met Clint before the Battle so had nothing to judge him by when he showed up again as the new member of the team.

She understood why Fury had done what he did, but she also wished she knew what had been done.  Clint’s own memories of that period fitted standard protocols for debriefing and re-integrating a compromised agent too perfectly for anything like that to have really happened.  It certainly couldn’t have changed his memories that much.

“What was done to him, Nick?”

She rarely used the Director’s first name.  It sent a clear signal she was off-book on this part of the conversation.

“What we had to do” Fury sighed “You know what would have happened if he found out.”

“No, I don’t” He could see the sadness in her eyes “You deprived him of that chance and I agreed to help you.”

“And are you going to tell him, Agent Romanoff?”

That was the S.H.I.E.L.D. director speaking.  The emphasis under his words very clear

She shook her head

“I’m as culpable as you are now, and it wouldn’t do any good at this stage.”

“I’m glad you understand” said Fury, sitting back in his chair “Keep me informed about Miss Wolfe.”

###

“You ever get bad dreams, Cap?” Clint asked, setting a massive bowl of popcorn down on the table.  Steve was as bad as Thor when it came to snacking, the bowl would probably be empty by the time the credits had finished rolling.  Tonight’s movie marathon was the Star Wars trilogy.  Clint had realised Steve was possibly the only person in the world who didn’t know the big twist and he was looking forward to him finding out.

“All the time” Steve admitted “Always the same one; Bucky’s falling from the train and I can’t hold on to him.  I just see him dropping down into the river...”

Clint put his hand on Steve’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.  He was the only one who really knew how much guilt and grief the younger man felt over the loss of his oldest friend.  It felt kinda weird thinking of Steve that way, but in real terms he’d only been 26 when he went into the ice.  In the field, there was no doubt Steve was in charge; in terms of planning and strategy though, he deferred to the archer’s 20 or so years of combat and tactical experience.  Sometimes it felt like he was unconsciously putting Clint into the role of older brother.  He didn’t mind that much, just hoped he could do a better job than Barney did with him.

“We all got the things that haunt us, Steve” he said quietly “Even Tony, though he’d never admit it.  Maybe that’s why Fury chucked us together; give us a chance to take out our issues on the green ‘n slimeys?”

“Seems as good a reason as any” mused Steve “How about you? Dream much?”

Clint nodded

“Can’t remember much, just wake up feeling like I done something terrible but can’t remember what” He took a long drink of his beer “Guess I’m still dealing with what Loki made me do.”

“None of that was your fault” Steve said, opening his own beer “The blame lies on him alone, Thor’s told you that often enough.  Even he couldn’t have resisted the power of the Sceptre.”

“Wish everyone thought that way” Clint grinned ruefully “there’s plenty who would’ve chucked me off the helicarrier and taken bets on whether I bounced or just splattered when I hit ground.”

“Then they’re assholes” Steve retorted sharply, enjoying Clint’s expression of surprise at the rare profanity “There ain’t many guys I’d trust to watch my back in a fight like I do you.”

They clinked bottles together and drank in silence.

“Sara’s a lovely girl” Steve said “You’re a really lucky guy”

Clint flushed a little

“She’s perfect, Steve, totally perfect.” his smile was shy and thoughtful “I never met anyone like her before.  Sounds crazy, but I really love her; like I never loved anyone before.”

Steve grinned at his friend, glad one of them was finding a bit of real happiness.

“I’m happy for you, Clint!  Really happy…”

He put his arm around the archer’s neck and pulled him into a headlock, ruffling his hair

“Ah! Let go, ya big sap!” Laughed Clint “Time to head to a galaxy far, far away!”

###

3:45am: Clint thought it was Lucky barking that woke him, but the dog was still curled up on his cushion beside the couch; besides, how could he have heard him without his hearing aids in?

He was soaked in sweat from head to foot; the pillow and sheets damp right through.  As he fought his breathing back to a normal rate he tried to cling on to anything he could remember from the dream.  Only the memory of climbing a wooden staircase in the dark, with a dog frantically barking somewhere nearby.

He suddenly realised the wetness of the bed wasn’t just due to sweat.  Lifting a damp hand to his nose he sniffed, and felt the hot flush of embarrassment spreading over his face

_Awwww no…_

He’d not pissed the bed since he was 11, not sober anyway.  Lucky Sara was staying at home tonight, he wouldn’t have wanted her to have to deal with this.  He got up and stripped off the wet bedding, piling it into a corner of the bathroom.  Throwing his boxers onto the pile Clint stepped into the shower and rinsed himself off.  Getting out, he began rubbing himself dry with a fresh towel.  Halfway through he paused and looked at his reflection; eyes wild and hair all over the place.

_What the fuck is wrong with you, Barton?_

 

 

 

 


	3. What's my Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does a goofball like Clint Barton meet a girl like Sara Wolfe? Lucky, of course!  
> Beth is honest with herself about why she dislikes her sister's boyfriend  
> Natasha learns why Fury may be interested in the work of Sara's parents and Bruce begins to wonder if Fury's concerns are so far fetched after all  
> Clint thinks things over and it's Sara's turn to have strange dreams.  
> Just who is the man who needs to know his name and what is his connection to Clint?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit rough sex.

Eight weeks previously

In hindsight, calling his dog ‘Lucky’ might have been tempting fate.  Bad enough that the smell of food had caused him to pull the lead right out of Clint’s hand and go charging towards the party in that, very expensive looking, gallery.  Of course, Lucky also had to go cannoning into the prettiest girl Clint had ever seen; making her drop a glass of red wine all over her, very expensive looking, dress.  As a finale, he’d then managed to step right on the broken glass and drive a piece of it deep into his paw.

The slender young redhead whose dress had probably been ruined was now comforting Lucky while Clint finished applying a makeshift bandage.

“Aww, who’s a brave boy?” she cooed at the shaggy, one-eyed, Labrador; feeding him another cocktail snack.  Lucky whined softly and licked at her hand.  His paw hurt, but Master was looking after him like he always did, while New Friend was using the Good Boy voice and giving him lots of treats.

“That should hold till I can get him home and call a vet” Clint stood up, scratching the back of his neck the way he always did when nervous. “I’m really sorry about your dress; I’ll give you my number and you can send me the bill for the dry cleaning.”

The girl was still crouched down, fussing over Lucky.

“It’s okay” she laughed. God, she had such a lovely laugh! “we keep an emergency supply of stain remover for events like these.”

“Well… ummm…” He was still scratching away, stomach churning.  The girl was way of out his league but something about her made his heart skip a beat and he’d kick himself if he didn’t at least try “Can I buy you coffee sometime to apologise?”

He gave her the best Barton Puppy-Dog eyes he could manage, the look he used on Natasha when trying to get the last slice of pizza, desperately hoping she would see (a) a nice, goofy, guy with a cute dog who just wanted the chance to speak to her, and not (b) a creepy klutz who couldn’t be trusted to look after another living thing and was hitting on a girl who might be half his age.

_Option a, option a, option a!_

Sara looked up at him and smiled.  Coffee dates with random strangers weren’t her style but there was something about this guy; maybe it was the lop-sided smile, like he was already steeling himself for her polite rejection, or that he looked like someone who laughed a lot and probably had a cute laugh.  Perhaps it was just the dog, who seemed to have forgotten all about his injured paw and happily snuffled at her hands; looking for another treat.

“I work here” she told him “and usually take lunch from 12 till 1.  Drop by anytime and ask for Sara.”

“I’m Clint” he replied, his smile turning into a broad, warm grin “Wednesday okay for you?”

“Wednesday’s great, Clint. see you then.”

Clint picked Lucky up, it was only a short walk back to Stark Tower and he didn’t want to risk him hurting his paw more. He said goodbye to Sara and began heading home.

“There’s a good boy” he murmured into Lucky’s ear “Looks like you’re not such a big soppy jinx after all!”

###

Beth took a long draw on her cigarette, she didn’t have to be back at her desk for another half hour so she might as well take the chance to enjoy a spot of the October sunshine.  She’d bumped into Clint, coming out of a computer-games shop with a tall, blond man he’d introduced as his C.O. Captain Steve Rogers.  Whatever doubts she had about Clint, Captain Rogers seemed to be a total boy-scout.  Could be all that stuff about him being in the Special Forces was true, so she should probably stop worrying and ease up on Sara

Problem was, she couldn’t really explain why she didn’t like the guy.  Clint was funny, kind, good natured, thoughtful and clearly crazy about her sister.  Even though she could tell Sara was still holding stuff back, Beth hadn’t seen her this happy for a long time.  There was just something that kept her on edge and she didn’t know what to do about it.

She could hardly sit Sara down and say ‘I don’t like Clint because I keep having bad dreams about him.’.  Each time it was the same dream; Clint, his face hard and cold, eyes glowing with an icy blue light, following her down dark passages with a bloody knife in his hand.  She would run, but no matter how fast she ran he was there behind her; walking at a steady pace and still getting closer.  She always woke just as he grabbed her shoulder.

She’d talked about it with her therapist of course.  They’d run through all the standard about relationship issues, over-protectiveness, allowing Sara to be her own woman; Dr Corben nodding and agreeing all the time.  All of it made perfect sense but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Clint was going to be dangerous.

She ground out her cigarette and started heading back to the office.  It was stupid, risking falling out with Sara over a dream; but deep down inside a voice kept telling her ‘be careful’

###

“I can’t say I knew Sam and Betty Wolfe that well” Bruce told Natasha.  He’d never made the connection between Sara and the two geneticists he’d briefly worked with six years ago.  It wasn’t an uncommon surname and he hadn’t had much interaction with them outside of the lab environment.  They’d been involved with some of his research just before he started the ill-fated Gamma radiation experiments that resulted in the ‘Other Guy’

“They had the theory that the effects of Erskine’s serum could be hereditary, or otherwise genetically transferrable”

“Like cloning?” Asked Natasha.  Bruce nodded and sat down on one of the stools at his workstation, he took off his glasses and started to unwrap a protein bar.

“Testing that theory required viable specimens of Steve’s DNA, and the blood samples taken in the 40s had deteriorated too much to be of use” He took a bite out of the protein bar “I don’t know what direction their research took after that.”

“And now that we have a living, breathing, supersoldier who stays three floors down and along the hall?” Natasha began to comprehend why Fury might be so interested in Sam and Betty Wolfe, although the stuff about their daughter still seemed farfetched.

Bruce chewed on his mouthful, pondering the question

“I guess that makes trialling that theory a practical possibility” he grinned, bits of nuts and seeds stuck between his teeth “Do you want to be the one to ask Steve to jerk off into a paper cup?”

“I’ll leave that to Tony” Natasha laughed “He’d never forgive us for not giving him that opportunity.”

“Is that what this is about?” Bruce asked, suddenly serious “Because I really don’t think Steve…”

Natasha shook her head

“It’s about Elizabeth Wolfe being considered for the Asset Index…”  She told Bruce as much as she could; leaving out any reference to Clint’s debriefing.  The scientist’s scepticism was immediately apparent

“There’s still nothing near conclusive evidence for the existence of telepathy or E.S.P. and certainly not to any degree that could be described as posing a threat.  As for the other…?” He shook his head and she detected a hint of annoyance in his voice. “You could argue that we’re all empathic to one degree or another; only it’s called normal human interaction, and we manipulate each other’s feelings and emotions all the time.  Fury’s an expert at that, maybe he should be on the Index.”

He threw the protein-bar wrapper into the waste-bin and put his glasses back on

“I’m not comfortable with the idea that you’re spying on Clint’s girlfriend, Nat.  I don’t think he’d be too happy about it either.”

Natasha couldn’t deny that Bruce made a very valid point, or that it was inappropriate for Fury to have her investigating Sara; regardless of the circumstances.  Normally, checks on an agent’s new partner would be through internal security to avoid conflicts of interest.

“For what it’s worth I agree with you and I don’t like it either” Natasha assured him “I think Fury’s being over cautious, but Sara’s a new factor in the equation and he wants to be sure; better me than one of Agent Hand’s goons from the Hub.”. 

Bruce nodded in agreement and then paused, thinking through the implications of their conversation.

“We ought to tell the others…” Natasha opened her mouth to object and he raised his hand for her to let him carry on “Not about the Index and that nonsense, but about Sam and Betty’s research.  If someone’s picked that up and is looking to use Steve’s DNA to create supersoldiers, he ought to know and we ought to be on the lookout.  Fury didn’t tell you to keep that a secret, did he?”

“Not explicitly, no.” Natasha admitted with a smile, sometimes what the Director omitted to say was more significant than his spoken instructions.

“Plus” Bruce continued “it gives you a legitimate reason to keep a watchful eye on Sara, if someone is trying to get details of her parents’ research it could potentially put her in danger.”

Natasha was impressed.  During the four years he’d spent on the run from Thaddeus Ross and other interested parties, the shy, quiet, scientist had developed an admirable talent for subterfuge.  It was easy to underestimate him and she suspected that may be one of the reasons why he’d proved so successful at evasion.  Even with all the resources at their disposal, S.H.I.E.L.D. had found it hard enough to keep track of him.

###

“Pepper asked me to bring you this” Sara said, setting the coffee down on the worktop beside Bruce. “and she says if Tony’s joining us for dinner, you’ve no excuse not to.”

It was the first time she’d ventured into the Research and Development section.  The top ten floors of Stark Tower were the real hub of Stark Global Industries, a quietly humming hive of activity where researchers and technicians transformed Tony’s ideas into practice.  This room was just known as ‘The Lab’; Tony and Bruce’s personal work and play-space where the two ‘science-bro’s’ spent much of their time together.

“My folks would have loved this” Sara said, taking a sip of her own coffee “Dad always complained about the shortage of proper laboratory facilities.”

Bruce put down his tablet and picked up the coffee Sara had brought him.  Ever since his conversation with Nat a couple of days ago, he’d been thinking about how to approach Sara about her parents in the least obvious way and she’d just given him the perfect opening. Like she’d read his mind.  Bruce dismissed that thought immediately, he had enough problems with borderline paranoia without buying into more.

They’d discussed the subject of the Wolfes’ research last night.  The idea that S.H.I.E.L.D., the military and other parties could be interested in Steve’s DNA for creating cloned or artificially inseminated supersoldiers was disturbing and Steve clearly found it both offensive and embarrassing.  Even Tony kept the off-colour comments to a minimum.

It had been agreed they needed to keep this on their radar, independently of any S.H.I.E.L.D. investigations.  The intelligence organisation was very selective in the information it chose to reveal, even to the Avengers; perhaps especially to the Avengers.  Tony commented that they seemed to treat the team like attack dogs; to be kept kennelled until needed.

Clint hadn’t been happy about the thought of not telling Sara, but Tony and Steve convinced him that if she didn’t know about her parents’ research it would be safer for her to remain in the dark for now; at least until they knew what they might be up against.  Bruce noticed how both men appeared to sound equally protective regarding Clint’s girlfriend.  She was a sweet girl, with an artful innocence about her, and Clint was obviously ambiguous about her being drawn into their twilight world.

Bruce had volunteered to broach the subject with her in a tactful, natural, way.  That made sense; he was the one who had known them, no matter how briefly.

“I worked with your Mom and Dad a few years ago” he admitted “We were doing similar research into Erskine’s serum; the one that created Captain America”

“Mom and Dad were always pretty private about their work, and what they did talk about I never really understood” said Sara.  She was slightly surprised at the connection, but somehow it didn’t feel like a great revelation “I think they were a bit disappointed Beth and I never had any interest in science.”

“I never knew them that well to be honest” He’d not liked them much either. The Wolfes had struck him as aloof and stand-offish; convinced of their own brilliance but without the affable arrogance that made Tony bearable. “Outside of where our research intersected we didn’t have that much in common.”

“They were like that with most people really” Sara acknowledged, she’d loved her parents deeply but they weren’t what you’d call overly affectionate. “If someone wasn’t right on their wavelength they didn’t have much time for them.”

There it was again, that feeling she was answering his thoughts, rather than his words.  Bruce felt himself wishing Nat had never brought up all that index stuff, frankly it creeped him out, but he was too much of a scientist not to be intrigued by the possibility.  He’d have to think of a way to go about this. He took a long drink of coffee

“So, what’ve Nat and Clint whipped up for dinner?”  Changing the subject seemed like a good idea.

###

Clint lay staring up at the ceiling as Sara slept peacefully, nestled in the crook of his arm.  He was still getting used to sharing a bed with someone, which might be why he was having the dreams; anxiety about someone else present while he slept, and about finally having someone in his life he wanted to be comfortable sleeping beside. 

None of his previous relationships had lasted.  The life of S.H.I.E.L.D. specialist wasn’t conducive to a stable private life.  At a moment’s notice, he could be called off on a mission; if it was undercover work that could mean weeks, perhaps months or more.  Some specialists worked undercover missions for years.  When all you could say to your significant other was ‘it’s classified’ or ‘I’m on a job’ that put strain even on a well-established couple.

Dating another agent or specialist carried with it a whole different world of problems, none of them worth the effort.  He wondered briefly how he and Natasha had never ended up together.  Probably a good thing they hadn’t, the intimacy between them was deeper than anything sexual; like he’d discovered in her a twin sister he’d never known about before the moment their eyes met.  In that instant, he’d known everything about her and could see in her eyes that she experienced the same recognition. 

They’d stood in that rain soaked back street, guns to each other’s heads, for he didn’t know how long.  Natasha had been the first to lower her pistol, still looking him straight in the eye. 

“I’m tired” was all she’d said.

Coulson had backed him on his call to bring the Black Widow in as an asset, even if he didn’t understand it at first.  Phil was like that though, if he trusted you he’d support you all the way regardless.  Phil had made a not dissimilar call himself, in Pakistan, when he considered the eyes of a bruised and bloodied young assassin and offered him a choice.

He leaned his head against Sara’s and inhaled the perfume of her hair.  It smelled like roses and incense; she preferred rich, spicy scents; lightly applied, which seemed to augment rather than mask the natural perfumes of her body.  Clint loved that; it meant he was tasting and smelling her, not some overpriced product, and he still had the taste of her in his mouth.

How did he come to have a girl like this beside him?  Okay, Clint had to admit he was in damn good shape and not bad looking from certain angles; although his S.H.I.E.L.D. ID photo made him look like a turnip with mumps and Maria Hill said he had ‘angry serial killer’ resting face, but someone like Sara could walk into anywhere and have her pick of anyone she wanted. 

He couldn’t even say it was some fangirl thing.  The guy she agreed to have coffee with, had gone to the movies with and, on their fifth date, invited back to her apartment despite big sister’s disapproving glare, wasn’t Hawkeye the Avenger, it was the dork in the Batman T-shirt and beaten-up bomber jacket who couldn’t keep control of his dog. 

He ought to be grateful to Tony for pulling that stunt with the dinner party.  It had saved him the agony of having to decide when or if to tell her the truth and he felt a bit safer seeing how much they’d taken to her.  Apart from Natasha he’d only properly started getting to know the others about a week or so before he met Sara; there hadn’t been much time for social chat during the battle and he’d been whisked off to Debrief right after shawarma and a shower.  Maybe he’d been more concerned about how they would react to her.

Natasha still seemed a bit distant, but she was like that with everyone, and if she was watching Sara’s back he didn’t have anything to worry about.  Clint shuffled himself around so he could cuddle into her properly and settled down to sleep.  Only pleasant dreams tonight he hoped.

###

The heat of the sun was fierce on her skin and the air tasted dry and dusty.  A heat haze shimmered over the bare, rocky ground as Sara walked along the narrow dirt track towards a tumbledown mud-brick shanty.  Where was this? It could be any desert location in the world but something about it made her think Middle-East.  She instinctively pulled her shawl up to cover her hair, as much to demonstrate her modesty as well as protect herself from the heat; although there didn’t seem to be anyone else in sight.

As she got closer to the shanty she could see it had been abandoned for years, the timbers grey and brittle from the relentless sun.  The roof looked partially intact, perhaps she could find a bit of shade inside.  The door hung on by only one hinge and nearly fell off as she pushed it carefully open and stepped inside. Sara stepped by with a small cry of alarm when she saw the man in well-worn desert camouflage crouched against the wall, a combat rifle propped beside him.

He was tanned, broad shouldered, dark blond hair closely cropped in a military cut.  As he looked up at her Sara saw it was Clint, only younger; with a weary expression and a harsh, brutal, look in his eyes. None of the humour or tenderness she was familiar with.

“Clint?” She could hear the surprise in her voice. He pushed himself to his feet and came over to her, putting an arm around her waist. 

“That’s not my name, he grinned, pressing a finger to her lips “You gotta say my name or the magic ain’t gonna work.  I know your name.”

The man who said he wasn’t Clint pushed her back against the crumbling mud wall and ran his fingers through her hair

“Lovely Sara, smells of roses; tastes like honey.”

Bending his head, he traced the tip of his tongue along the curves of her ear, causing a shiver of pleasure to run through her.

“I’m parched, Sara” he whispered in her ear “I wanna taste you.”

Without waiting for a reply he dropped to his knees and pushed Sara’s light cotton dress up around her hips with one hand, tugging her panties down with the other.  She felt like she should resist, try and fight him off; instead she grabbed his hair and pulled him closer, crying “Hawkeye!” as he thrust his tongue inside her.

He pulled his head back briefly and winked at her

“Warmer, but no!”

He kept a firm grip on Sara’s waist, holding her up as her knees threatened to give way, licking and sucking between her thighs; like a man dying of thirst desperately lapping up water.

_This is a dream, this is just a dream! Oh God! It’s such a good dream!!_

He was on his feet, kissing her, letting her taste herself on his lips and tongue.  She didn’t care if he said he wasn’t Clint, even if he didn’t seem like Clint.  Only one man could kiss and touch her like this.

He pressed his forehead against hers, his cold grey eyes bright with urgency.  In the distance, she could hear the sound of gunfire, a sudden stab of fear intensifying her desire

“What’s my name?” he was almost begging her “Baby, tell me my name”

“I don’t know” she hissed through her teeth, pulling at the belt of his combat pants “Teach me!”

His pants fell to his knees, with no underwear beneath.  The man who didn’t know his name groaned as Sara’s cool hand closed around his erection and he lifted her up against the wall while she hooked one leg around his waist

“Tell me my name, baby!” he pleaded “I’m a dead man if you don’t”

The gunfire was getting closer as she thrust herself onto him, the force of his entry causing her to arch her back and cry out.

This wasn’t ‘making love’ this was fucking, hard and animal. Sara locked her legs around his waist while he held her up in his arms, her back tight against the wall, the movement of his hips quick and violent as he buried his face in her neck, grunting repeatedly “Say my name…”

She could feel it surging within her, rising like the waves at high tide, propelled by his savage, desperate thrusting.

“Ro… Ro…” Sara gasped

Supporting her with only one arm; bicep and chest bulging with the effort, he grabbed her hair and twisted her head so she looked him straight in the eye; seeing the urgency of his need in those clear, brutal eyes

“Say it!!!” he yelled, spittle flecking her face “Tell me my fucking name!!!”

It came out of her with the full force of her orgasm

“Ronin!!! You’re Ronin!”

Sara held on to his shoulders as he fell back onto the uneven dirt floor with her on top of him, his cock inside her pulsing with the intensity of his own climax. She bent her face down and kissed him softly

“You’re Ronin” she whispered “You’re name’s Ronin”

The gunfire sounded really close now.  Ronin closed his eyes and let out a long, relieved, sigh before rolling her off him and jumping to his feet.  Pulling his pants up with one hand he snatched his combat rifle and nodded towards a dark hole in the far corner of the wall; something she was sure hadn’t been there before.

“You can get out through there” he told her, checking the magazine was full “Don’t want those motherfuckers snatching a jewel like you.”

As Sara pulled her dress back down, Ronin grabbed her panties off the floor and stuffed them under the neck of his T Shirt

“I’m keeping these” he grinned, then his look became hard and deadly again “I know what they did to him.”

###

Sara woke, her heart still beating hard.  The light of a full Moon spilled in through the windows and the room was quiet except for the little yiffs and growls coming from Clint.  That made her smile, breaking the residual tension of the dream.  She wasn’t sure who made the funnier sleep noises, Clint or Lucky. On a whim, she ran her fingers through his hair and his whole body shivered as he made a happy chirruping sound and rolled onto his stomach.

She propped herself up on one elbow and watched him sleep as she waited for drowsiness to claim her again.  She should tell Clint about her dream tomorrow. He’d been talking about his nightmares, it might help if he knew he wasn’t the only one round here having odd dreams.  As she though this, a note of warning sounded deep inside, like she’d been made party to the start of a secret which wasn’t ready to be revealed yet. 

This felt silly, but maybe she should keep this to herself for now? At least until she learned a bit more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Fever Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A routine mission for Clint has unexpected consequences, trapping him in a fever-fueled nightmare.  
> Sara shares some concerns with Pepper and Steve  
> One of Clint’s secrets comes to light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes  
> References to, and implied, violence. Some psychological horror.  
> Reviews and comments welcome

Clint ducked as his opponent’s fingers gouged four deep gashes in the brickwork of the wall.  Tony’s voice sounded in his earpiece.

“Five minutes from you, Pigeon!  Keep him occupied!”

“Not gonna be a problem” Clint muttered as he dodged another blow, the force of the man’s fist cracking the concrete slab where he’d been standing a second ago.  This should have been a quick one-and-done takedown but for the intel fuck-up.  The guy was enhanced; superior strength but luckily not speed or agility.  Maybe he hadn’t been able to afford the full upgrade and had just gone for the economy version.

The razor-sharp steel claws in place of the fingernails? That was a freaky touch and must make ass-wiping a bit of a challenge.  They’d cut through three layers of pliable Kevlar and he could feel the blood trickling down his arm.  Clint rolled back again to put some more distance between them.  The guy had shrugged off the last two shots like they were bee stings.  Either reduced pain impulses or PCP, no way to tell right now.  Time to get creative.

He knocked a tazer arrow into his bow and fired, the big meathead dropped to his knees twitching as the shock hit him; blue sparks jumping between the metal claws.  Clint breathed a sigh of relief which was cut short when Meathead yanked the arrow out and lumbered to his feet with a deep growl.

_Well, that’s just made him angry_

“Speed it up, Stark!” he shouted into the comm. “Running out of options and roof-space here!”

“Keep him moving!” came Stark’s urgent response “Got you on visuals now”

Clint twisted to avoid another blow, pulling an arrow from his quiver as he did.  Meathead had got in a bit too close and he felt the tips of the claws rake across his stomach. 

_Close enough for what I wanted, fucker!_

As he twisted round the rest of the way he rammed the arrowhead into the side of Meathead’s neck and leapt aside fast, pressing the detonator button on his bow grip.

Meathead looked kinda funny, standing there without a head.  The heat of the explosion must have cauterised the stump of the neck and the body swayed on its feet for a moment or two before collapsing forward into a heap.  Tony landed on the rooftop just as Clint was dusting himself off and checking for damage.  He flipped up the mask of the Mark VII

“See!” the billionaire sounded a touch petulant “You had it under control all the way.”

“Aww c’mon!” gasped Clint with a grin “Tell you didn’t want to see that sweet move?”

It was impressive how Tony had designed the Iron Man suits so he could still shrug in them.

“It was one of your better ones” he admitted, not wanting to confess the moment of panic he’d felt when he saw the clawed hand catching his friend in the midriff. “Now let’s go yell at the Field Office and join the ladies for what’s left of the evening.”

###

Pepper put her phone back down on the table and topped up Sara’s wineglass

“They’re on the way back and bringing pizza” she told the younger woman “Should we get changed into something less formal?”

The four of them had been planning a pre-Christmas couples’ night on the town and both women had dressed up for the occasion, but Clint had been called out at the last minute by the New York Field Office for an unexpected mission. He said it sounded like a quick, simple job, but just before 9 he’d called in to Tony for emergency back-up.  The two women had sat and worried for an hour before the call to say they were both fine and at the Field Office kicking up a stink.

it was now nearly 11 and evening dress seemed a bit much for late night pizza.  In front of the fire, Lucky’s ears pricked up and he looked around expectantly. 

“Oops! He’s heard the ‘P’ word” laughed Sara, “Let’s stay as we are; give the boys a hint of what they could have had.”

Pepper smiled and drank some of her wine

“You’ll get used to this” she told Sara “I’ve lost count of the number of romantic evenings that have ended up being just me, beer and Netflix.”

“I’m starting to…” said Sara, scratching Lucky behind his ears.  The dog had come wandering over to the couch searching for the promised pizza “But Clint’s really good at making it up.”

“To be fair, Tony is too; and he was just as bad before the Avengers came along” admitted Pepper “Is Clint still having bad dreams?”

Sara shook her head

“Not for a couple of weeks.  He’s been speaking to a friend of Steve’s who does counselling for veterans with combat stress.  I’m hoping that’s helping him.”

“Perhaps I should get Tony to see him” sighed Pepper

Over the two and a half months since Tony had introduced Sara to Pepper and the others, the two women had become increasingly close despite the age difference.  Pepper liked Sara’s vivacity and charm while the younger woman responded to Pepper’s warmth and common sense.  Part of their bond was the concern they shared over the men in their lives. 

Both Tony and Clint were dealing with psychological issues arising from their experiences in the Battle of New York.  Clint was having nightmares which he could never fully recall on waking but which sounded horrific and were clearly disturbing him while Tony, despite his outward ebullience, was increasingly prone to bouts of depression and alcohol abuse; locking himself in his study with a bottle of bourbon and not emerging till he was sober again.

“That would be a very good idea” agreed Sara “I’ll ask Clint to speak to him about it.”

They both knew Tony would brush off any such suggestion coming from Pepper out of habit, but might be inclined to listen to Clint.  For all the jokes and the name calling, Sara could feel how much Tony genuinely liked his fellow-Avenger and welcomed having him in the Penthouse.

“Daddy’s home!” boomed Tony emerging from the elevator with a stack of pizza boxes in his arms, Clint behind him “and he’s brought pizza”

Lucky leapt up and ran towards them, jumping around Tony and barking with delight as the billionaire walked over to the kitchen and began taking out plates.  Clint vaulted over the back of the couch and landed with a ‘thump’ beside Sara. The scratches on his stomach and arm still stung and he winced slightly.

“Guess Lucky doesn’t love me tonight” he said to her, sticking his bottom lip out with an exaggerated sad-face look.  She laughed and kissed him

“I love you, Hot-Guy; and Lucky will as well once the pizza’s finished. You okay?”

Clint pulled up his T Shirt to show the plaster and stuck his lip even further out

“Bad man skwatched widdow Kwint!” he said, imitating the voice of an upset toddler

“Awwww” Sara rubbed his stomach “Never mind, Sara kiss it better later!”

“Yeah, if we could keep those disturbing images for after I’ve eaten that’d be great” said Tony, bringing over the first of the plates as Lucky tucked eagerly into a bowl filled with slices of Double Pepperoni.

###

“How long has he been like this?” asked Bruce, drawing back Clint’s eyelid and shining a light to check for response.  The archer was flushed and sweating, his whole body shivering with fever.  Sara stood fearfully beside the bed, twisting the belt of her dressing gown in her hands.  She’d been woken a few minutes ago by Clint moaning, and found him in this condition.

“He was fine when we went to sleep, so less than four hours.”

Bruce looked at her in alarm, a fever as bad as this should have been noticeable much earlier.  He peeled back the plaster on Clint’s stomach, the scratches were angry and inflamed; weeping a yellowish matter.  It was the same with the ones on his arm.  Even if they hadn’t been properly dressed at the Field Office, he’d had them for less than eight hours and from the report they’d been little more than superficial.  Shallow cuts, surely not enough to be so badly infected this quickly.

“Clint!” Bruce clicked his fingers by the other man’s ear, trying to get a reaction “Clint, can you hear me?”

“He can’t…” Sara began, Clint’s hearing aids were in their case in the nightstand.  She’d been worried something like this might happen ever since he told her the others were unaware of his condition. Bruce looked at her quizzically.

“He’s deaf” she told him, trying to remember that she was helping Clint in a serious medical crisis and not betraying his trust. “His hearing aids are in the drawer.”

“Okay…” said Bruce, “This could make things a little more difficult.  I’ll have to get him to the med lab and start him on a course of broad-spectrum antibiotics. Jarvis?”

“Yes, Dr Banner” came the smooth voice of Stark’s User Interface

“Can you send a medical team to Agent Barton’s apartment immediately and inform Mr Stark I need to see him urgently?”

“Certainly, Dr Banner” Jarvis replied “Captain Rogers returned to the Tower two hours ago, would you like him informed as well?”

“Yes, if you would please.” Bruce sighed.  It was only 5am and it didn’t feel like the day was going to get any easier.

###

“I’ll get those claws sent over for testing” Tony said as he poured himself another mug of coffee “That should tell us what’s caused this; if those idiots at the Field Office haven’t decided to bronze them as trophies.”

The night’s events had driven Tony’s opinion of the S.H.I.E.L.D. New York Field Office even lower than he could have thought possible.  First, they call Clint out on a one-man mission based on faulty intelligence that might have got him killed, then they clearly failed to do a basic tox-screen that should have identified any potentially hazardous substances.  This crossed over from inefficiency into criminal negligence.

“They shouldn’t have called Clint out in the first place.” Steve’s annoyance was even more evident than Tony’s “We’re not here to pick up the jobs the Field Office think might be a bit too tough to handle.  This was a case for a STRIKE team, not us.”

“There’s one other thing…” Bruce bit his lip and glanced nervously at Sara “While I was examining Clint, I discovered he suffers from severe hearing loss.”

“From the infection?” Tony asked anxiously, Bruce shook his head

“No, long term.  Five, maybe six years.” He tried not to glance at Sara again, sometimes he was a very bad liar. “His hearing aids are high end S.H.I.E.L.D. tech; he must have had Fury’s clearance to continue active service.”

Sara felt a deep surge of gratitude towards Bruce for sparing her the burden of telling Clint’s secret, but she could see from Steve’s expression and the way he looked at her that he guessed the truth.

Steve took a deep breath and looked from Bruce to Tony. 

“This is a conversation we can have later, when Clint’s recovered…”

###

All he could hear was the screaming, drowning out even the barking of that damned dog.  He worked smoothly and confidently with his blade; each stroke precise and measured.  The first two targets had been dispatched quickly, for the sake of convenience and practicality.  Instructions for the third target were to make it last. 

Normally this wasn’t his kind of work, he preferred the clean shot and the quick getaway, but he was skilled with the blade and he had the time and privacy to do a thorough job.  The target must have really annoyed someone very high up, or a message was being sent. 

It took longer than most people would have guessed.  If you weren’t a professional, you probably didn’t know how long someone could cling on to life long past the point of no return.  Finally, the twitching and gurgling stopped and he sat back on his heels, wiping a bloody hand over his face.  He’d need to have a shower before he left.

He looked up at the slim figure silhouetted against the window

“Satisfied, Boss?”

“More than you can imagine.”

He realised he could still hear the screaming; it wasn’t coming from the house and the dog had subsided into faint whining.  It seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him, as if someone only he could hear was begging him to stop.

###

Clint had come round briefly, screaming hysterically, fighting the nurses who tried to get him back into bed.  Luckily, in his weakened and disoriented state, he hadn’t been able to do them any harm.  They had him sedated now, strapped down to the bed with drips keeping him hydrated and full of antibiotics to try and fight the fever raging through him.  The metal claws from the still unidentified target had been shipped over earlier that afternoon; Tony and Bruce had them in the Lab, trying to determine the source and nature of the infection.

Steve found Sara in the so called ‘quiet lounge’ just off the main living area.  She looked like she’d been crying.  He put the cups down on the table and sat beside her

“I made us some tea” he said softly “thought you might like a bit of company.”

She nodded gratefully

“I just…” her voice faltered and she started again “Is he going to be okay?”

Steve sighed, wishing he had an answer for her

“Tony and Bruce are working to find out what’s causing this.  Once they know that they can start to target it” he reached over and took her hand “Clint’s strong, he’ll fight this one through.”

“I told Bruce about him being deaf” she admitted.  Steve had been a generous and welcoming friend to her since the first day they met and she hated the idea of lying to him even by proxy.

“I worked that out, Bruce isn’t the world’s greatest liar” he smiled at her “I guess he was just trying to save you the embarrassment?”

“Please don’t be angry with him when he wakes up” Sara begged “It’s been a huge challenge for him, and you can see how it hasn’t affected his abilities.”

Steve sighed. He should be angry by all rights, it was a big secret to have kept from his team mates and he felt a bit let down that Clint hadn’t been able to trust him with this. Sara made a good point though, he would never have guessed about any hearing difficulties if no-one had told him; and if he had been told earlier, it might have affected his judgement about whether he wanted Clint on the team and that would have been a mistake.

“Don’t worry” he assured her “I’ll need to talk it through with him, but I’m not gonna get mad; and we can stick with Bruce’s story if you want.”

“No” Sara shook her head “I don’t want to lie to Clint any more than to you.”

“Too many secrets already, huh?” he asked with a wry smile.  Sara had called her sister, Beth, earlier to tell her that Clint was sick and she was staying over at his to look after Lucky while he recovered.  Beth had offered to come round and help, but Sara had assured her everything was ok and she’d be fine.

“I told her it was just a bad man-flu and he was being a big baby” she sighed “I think she’d worry more if she knew the truth.”

“I’m sorry you can’t tell Beth what’s really going on” Steve told her “If it was up to me…”

“I understand, really, I do…” Sara was aware that she was possibly the only person outside a select group of S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents to know the real identities of the Black Widow and Hawkeye, and one of only a handful of people in the world to know the secret that kind, gentle, Dr Banner held inside him.  “Mr Fury made things very plain to me.  Does every new girlfriend get that talk?”

The S.H.I.E.L.D. Director had ‘invited’ Sara for lunch a few weeks previously where he has spelled out firmly, but as pleasantly as he seemed capable of doing, the highly sensitive nature of the world she was now part of and the dangerous consequences for all concerned should she let any hint of that slip out.  Steve laughed

“When I get one I’ll let you know…”

They looked up as Tony came in, tablet in hand as always, looking tired but triumphant.

“We’ve been able to identify the toxin” he told them “It’s a variant of Staphylococcus but engineered to be really nasty.  The med lab is working on a targeted treatment right now.”

“Is that good news?” asked Sara anxiously, keeping a hold of Steve’s hand. 

“He’s not out of the woods yet” Tony admitted “but once we get the right treatment in place and bring the fever down we’ll have our Pigeon up and cooing in no time.”

###

He was back at the foot of the stairs. it would be dawn soon and his eyes had no need to adjust to the grey half-light within the house.  Even in the dark he’d be able to find his way around.  The targets were still sleeping but in a few seconds the dog would catch his scent and start barking.  The first of the targets would emerge just when he got to the top of the stairs.  That’s when it would all begin again.

_Please… make it stop_

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Talking Tough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Clint seriously ill and treatment options running out, Sara and Natasha have a moment and the man called Ronin puts in another appearance.  
> Tony Stark comes to the rescue in his own unique fashion, saving Sara from an awkward situation.  
> Clint’s nightmarish fever-dream continues unabated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes  
> Reviews and comments welcome

Bruce gently shook Sara’s shoulder.

“Sara, go to bed.” He told her “I’ll watch him for a while”

‘No time’ was taking longer than expected.  Clint’s fever was still high, not getting worse but not falling either.  Even with the nature of the infection identified the medical staff weren’t completely confident they had it targeted and under control.  For now, it was a case of keeping him hydrated and comfortable while his body fought back.  The times when he surfaced into semi-consciousness were the hardest.  Without his hearing aids and not coherent enough to comprehend signing he quickly became disoriented and distressed, even while semi-sedated, his attempts at speech slurring and garbled. 

Sara’s presence was the only thing that seemed to calm Clint; the young woman would just sit there, holding his hand, as if they were communicating on some other level.  Bruce had been paying close attention to this.  He’d done some discreet tests with her ‘as a laugh’ and was waiting for the details to be calibrated and re-confirmed, certain that the initial results had to be incorrect.

Clint was asleep now, although in his present state it was sometimes difficult to tell.  He moved and shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking back and forth behind his closed eyelids; letting out the occasional low, disturbing moan. Sara took hold of Bruce’s hand

“How long is this going to last?” She was shaking and her voice was unsteady.  Bruce kept hold of her hand, normally he wasn’t happy with physical contact but Sara’s touch was comforting.  He didn’t care why just now, things weren’t going as smoothly as he hoped.  Whatever had been done to engineer the bug that caused this had made it more resistant to the normal courses of treatment and a more aggressive approach had its own risks.

“I don’t know” he sighed “If his temperature doesn’t start coming down soon we’ll need to look at other options to avoid the risk of organ failure.”

“What if you can’t bring it down?”  Sara still found it hard to believe those silly little scratches had made Clint so sick.  Bruce looked at her, biting at his lower lip the way he often did when fretful. The look in his eyes was all the answer she needed.

“Go to bed, Sara” He told her “I’ll call you if anything happens.”

There was no-one in the living area and it was dark except for the multi-coloured lights on the Christmas Tree.  Tony liked to have it turned on 24/7, finding it comforting on those nights he couldn’t sleep.  She understood what he meant; the twinkling lights and wrapped presents brought back happy memories of her childhood, that bright splash of colour in the austere white drawing room.

The long present wrapped in glittery purple paper was the NERF bow she’d bought Clint, as much for seeing the dismay on Tony’s face as the delight on Clint’s.  From the way Bruce had looked, Sara wondered if she’d ever get to see him open it.

She went over to the kitchen and put some ginger biscuits in her pocket for Lucky then tried to make herself a cup of tea.  After the third attempt fumbling with the lid of the kettle she threw it down and started to cry.

“Allow me” Natasha picked up the lid and slotted it into place “Sometimes it sticks.”

Sara hadn’t been aware Natasha was back, let alone in the room.  She was still wearing gloves and a fur trimmed leather jacket, which she peeled off and threw over the back of a stool whole Sara wiped her eyes and took two mugs out of the cupboard.

“Thanks, I take mine black; without sugar.” Natasha said “How’s Clint?”

Sara paused with her hand on the cupboard door

“Bruce is worried.” She told the older woman. Natasha gave a small sigh

“Then its bad” She sat down on the stool and crossed her legs at the knee “I’ll go up and see him.  You look like you should get some rest.”

She was surprised Natasha could appear so calm with her friend in such a serious condition.  The degree of control the former Russian spy exercised seemed unnatural to her.

“Have you known Clint long?” Sara asked as she took out the tin with the Earl Grey in it.  She knew enough about Natasha to remember this was her favourite tea.

“Almost nine years, he recruited me for S.H.I.E.L.D.” Natasha leaned her elbows back on the worktop behind her. “We’ve never been lovers, and probably never will.  Our friendship is too… complicated for that.”

“I didn’t mean…” Sara began

“Of course you did” laughed Natasha “I don’t dislike you, Sara, but I am very protective of Clint and tend to be cautious of any new people in his life; especially outsiders...”

Sara thought she should be offended by the last comment, but it felt like Natasha was simply conveying a hard truth she needed to accept.  No matter her love for Clint or her friendship with Steve and Tony, she wasn’t part of the world they inhabited and never could be.

“…And I question Tony’s wisdom in bringing you in to all this” she continued “Although I regularly question most of his life choices so I think he can live with that.”

“Tony’s been a good friend to me” Sara responded defensively as she poured the boiling water over the teabags “So has Steve…”

“And me?” Natasha tilted her head with a faint smile

“You’re Clint’s friend;” Sara turned to face her as she finished preparing their tea “even if you don’t like me much, I’d like us to be friendly for his sake.  Especially Just now.”

“That’s a good place to start.  I have this manner with everyone, Sara, don’t take it personally” She took the mug from her “Is there anything I should know before I go up there?”

“He doesn’t have his hearing aids in” Sara told her “I had to let Bruce know and he told the others”

Natasha nodded to herself, she’d expected this; and the conversation Steve would want to have with her in the morning.

“You made the right call” Then she leaned over and kissed Sara on the cheek “Thank you for being here for him.”

That was probably the nearest you were ever likely to get to a hug from Natasha Romanoff thought Sara, as the other woman walked towards the stairs. Normally she was quite good at getting the feel of a person, a useful trait in the world of high-end art sales, but Natasha remained an enigma to her. It felt like she only gave off the clues she wanted the other person to know and kept the rest locked away.

###

Lucky jumped off the couch as Sara entered the apartment.  He was a Good Boy and had stayed off the bed.  He barked happily to great her and then peered towards the door expectantly. Sara crouched down and scratched him behind the ears.

“Not tonight Lucky, I’m sorry.  Soon…”

Lucky ‘wuffed’ quietly and looked at her, few animals manage to look as unhappy as a one-eyed Labrador.  Master’s Mate was using Sad Voice and Master’s scent on her still had the Sick Smell.  He trotted over to his basket and came back with his favourite soft toy, dropping at her feet.  Maybe this would make her happy?  Sara picked it up and smiled, tossing it gently for him to fetch and sitting down on the bed.  When he proudly brought it back she took the biscuits out of her pocket and he snapped them down eagerly, licking the crumbs off her fingers.

Once he was done he whined at her sadly and pawed her knee.

“I know” she said “I miss him too…”

###

The same dry, dusty brown track with the crumbling mid-brick shack beside it.  The door still clung creaking to its single rusted hinge as Sara ducked her head under the low lintel and stepped inside.

This time the presence of the man she’d called Ronin was no surprise.  He lay on his back, head pillowed on his folded combat jacket, exhaling a thin plume of smoke towards the broken roof.  The sleeves of his T Shirt were rolled up to his shoulders and she could see the familiar hawk tattoo on his arm.

He looked at her as she came in, taking another draw on his cigar and blowing the smoke in her direction. 

“Lovely Sara, smells of roses…” He smiled, the cold harshness of his eyes softened and his voice had a sing-song lilt to it “…come to see her lonely Ronin”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here again” She sat down on the low, brick bench surrounding the central support.

“I’m always here, always will be.” He sat up and swung himself round into a cross-legged position, patting his folded-up jacket for her to come and sit there. “At least until it’s time.”

“Time for what?” Sara asked, making herself comfortable beside him.  He pulled her towards him and kissed her slowly, so she could savour the rich, dark, taste of the cigar smoke on his lips and tongue.  He threw the stub of the cigar away and pushed her skirt above her thighs; his warm fingers trailing along the smooth, sensitive skin as his other arm moved around her waist and drew her tight against him.

“Till it’s time for Ronin to save Lovely Sara’s life…”

###

“Care to explain why you’re staying in Stark Tower, rather than whatever rent-controlled dump Clint’s supposed to live in?”

Beth hadn’t meant to sound this sharp, but the idea that Sara had been lying to her rankled.  Ever since Clint Barton had come into her sister’s life there had just been too many secrets and evasions.  She wasn’t prepared to put up with any more.

One of the photographers at the paper, on regular Stark-watch duty had spotted Sara entering and leaving several times during the last couple of weeks; sometimes with Clint, more often recently with Stark and this ‘Captain Rogers’.  Twice he’d followed her in and seen her get waved through security to Tony Stark’s personal private elevator.  A man with Stark’s reputation could only have one interest in a girl like Sara.  Was Clint his personal procurer and where did Rogers fit into this?

The picture Beth had formed in her mind was not a pleasant one.

“Are you having an affair with Tony Stark?”

“Beth…!” Sara had expected her sister to be annoyed but not like this. Jarvis had notified her that she was in the coffee house at the Plaza, the suite of expensive shops opening off the Tower’s Atrium, and insistent upon speaking to her.  Having this to deal with right now was just too much for her to handle

“You’ve been lying to me, Sara” she said, hurt and angry “You, Barton and Rogers; and I want it to stop right now!”

“Perhaps I can explain”

Both women turned to see Tony strolling towards them across the floor of the Plaza, trailing a gaggle of harassed looking PA’s.  He waved his retinue back and joined them at their table.

“Captain Rogers and Sgt Barton are seconded to my security division because of certain projects I’m engaged in” he signalled to the waiter to bring him coffee “Unfortunately, Sgt Barton’s presently seriously ill with a Staph infection and Sara has been my guest here while my medical team are treating him.”

“Oh God, Sara; I’m so sorry!” Beth’s distress and embarrassment were evident “Mr Stark, I…”

“Tony, please” he held up his hand, flashing his most winning smile “Sara’s been bound by various non-disclosure agreements she’s had to sign as one of my regular guests, which is why she’s been unable to tell you this herself.  I, however, am not; being the author of those agreements…”

He sat back as the waiter placed coffee in front of him

“Sara tells me how close the two of you are” he said to Beth “I would hate for you to fall out because of something outside her control.”

“Mr Stark… Tony…” Beth stammered “Thank you so much for taking the time to explain.”

“It’s nothing, I heard about your arrival and guessed what it would be about.  I thought I might be able to lay your concerns to rest” He drained his coffee in a single gulp and stood up with another warm smile “Now I must go and give those overpaid cretins something to do.  Please, any time you want to visit your sister while she’s at the Penthouse a few hours’ notice will be sufficient.”

He winked at Sara, who felt like she could faint from the relief, and strode back over to his attendants with a jolly shout of “Follow me, minions!”

Beth took Sara’s hands in hers

“Oh, Little Sara!” she groaned “I’ve been so awful to you all this time and you weren’t allowed to tell me…”

She stroked her little sister’s cheek tenderly

“…please forgive me?”

Sara smiled and kissed her hand

“There’s nothing to forgive, Beth. I felt terrible not being able to say anything to you.  So did Clint, he really wants you to like him.”

“It’s not that I don’t…” Beth stopped herself; it sounded like Clint was very sick and Sara was evidently upset, this wasn’t the time for that sort of conversation “Is it really bad?”

Sara nodded, pressing her hand to her mouth.  She didn’t want to start crying in public because she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to stop.

“They’re trying to bring his temperature down.  If they can’t… he might start suffering organ failure.”

“Oh no!”  Beth’s voice was quiet and horrified, she hadn’t even considered it could be that serious “Oh Little Sara, I’m so sorry for both of you.”

“Thank you” whispered Sara, biting her lip to hold back the tears.  Saying it out loud made it seem like it was going to happen “I have to get back to him…”

“Of course, of course…” Beth stood up and hugged her sister “I must get back to the office as well, but call me tonight; let me know how things are, promise?”

“I promise” said Sara, hugging Beth back.  If she hurried she could get back to the Atrium and into the private elevator before she broke down.

###

“Heavenly Father, of Your Mercy, stretch out Your loving Hand over our afflicted brother Clint and show him Your healing Grace; and give comfort to our beloved sister Sara in this time of her distress…”

Tony remained a firm agnostic, but felt no inclination to mock as Steve knelt by Clint’s bedside and prayed for his comrade and friend.

The chill-packs were a last-ditch measure.  Trying to bring Clint’s temperature down too quickly could be as dangerous as letting it stay unchecked; he was at serious risk of liver and kidney failure and with the packs they could at least control the temperature drop while they monitored his responses.  If this didn’t work, there was a good chance he’d never regain consciousness.

Bruce had given Sara a mild sedative and she was resting in the quiet lounge with Pepper beside her.  If anything changed they’d call her.  If things didn’t change...? Tony wasn’t sure how long it would be before he joined Steve in prayer.

###

_No… I can’t… Not again…_

_“You have no choice”_

The dog caught his scent and started barking; he had a limited time to act while the targets were working out their response.  Normally in this type of close work, taking out the dog would have been the priority.  That didn’t appear to be a factor in this mission, as if the dog posed no threat and it was irrelevant if the targets were alerted. 

That didn’t sit right with him, but the client was insistent the brief had to be followed to the letter.  Whoever the targets were, the client wanted them to know that death was coming for them.

He sprinted up the stairs, knife at the ready.  He needed to act fast.  The first two had to be taken out before the third was awake enough to react.  A door opened as he reached the top of the stairs. Light spilled into the hallway as he saw the first target standing there, rubbing his eyes in sleepy astonishment

“Dad…?”

_Please… no… make it stop…_


	6. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is finally recovering from the infection but still has a way to go before he’s back to full strength.  
> Steve shows a lot of understanding and thinks about his own feelings for the archer.  
> Bruce considers the implications of Sara’s test results and proves himself a good bro.  
> Sara and Beth have a quiet, reflective, Christmas Eve together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes  
> Reviews and comments welcome

_I’m gonna have to get new pants or a smaller belt_

After more than a week of fever, diarrhoea and vomiting Clint had lost just over 10lb.  He hadn’t looked this lean since he was a teenager but it would be nice to walk more than thirty feet without feeling like he was going to throw up or pass out.  The fever had finally broken three days previously and he’d come back to full consciousness surrounded by friendly faces, his relief marred by the panic of realising he couldn’t hear.

Sara had been there, thank God, and signed to him what was happening while Bruce fitted his hearing aids back in and helped him adjust the volume.  He was still weak and sick from the fever, unable to get his fingers to co-operate.  He’d wept from gratitude and anxiety, happy the truth was out but afraid of the consequences.

He threw the towel onto the sofa and sat down while he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T shirt.  He still didn’t trust his balance; despite being released from the med-lab yesterday evening he had a lot of recovery work ahead of him before he was back to normal.  Tony’s nutritionist had drawn up a special diet to help him regain the weight he’d lost and he was meeting the trainers at the gym to work out an exercise routine to get his strength back up. 

Sara was curled up on the bed, fast asleep, with Lucky beside her.  She looked peaceful and happy.  Tony had told him how she’d been by his side almost constantly. Tasha and Phil were the only people who’d ever done that for him before, when Coulson brought him back from Tajikistan.  The Ten Rings faction he’d been sent to infiltrate had tortured him for days before Phil broke every regulation in the book to extract him.  His back, buttocks and thighs were still covered with the ragged scars of the floggings.  He’d been on life support for nearly two weeks, Tasha and Phil never far from his side, giving up their few days of precious leave to be there while he fought his way back to consciousness. 

It felt good, knowing he had someone else in his life who cared for him that way.  He missed Phil so much; Sara’s presence helped to fill that gap and softened the pain of loss.  Perhaps that was one of the reasons he needed her so very much.  Clint bent over her and softly brushed his lips against her cheek; carefully, so as not to wake her.

“Lovely Sara, smells of roses…” he murmured.  She stirred slightly and smiled in her sleep.  He straightened up and sighed.  Time to speak to Steve.

###

Clint sat awkwardly on the couch while Steve made them both coffee.  The guest apartments in Stark Tower had originally been intended to house visiting VIPs or overnight guests at the lavish parties Tony was notorious for throwing.  All the team had been allocated one for their use; even Thor, although who knew when the Asgardian would next show his face?  Only Natasha had her own apartment somewhere, although she spent a lot of time here.  Clint, Bruce and Steve were more or less permanent residents.

All the apartments had the same bland luxury of a high-class hotel suite.  So far only Steve had made any attempt to personalise his with some framed artwork of his own choosing.  Clint was surprised to see a couple of vintage black-light posters from the 60’s, he hadn’t though psychedelia would be Steve’s thing. 

“I like the line-work” Steve explained, handing Clint his coffee “Makes me think of art-nouveau”

It was hard to remember that Steve Rogers had been an artist and graphic design student before Erskine and Captain America.  Even knowing that, hearing the blond colossus speak knowingly about early 20th Century art seemed a bit strange; as if Thor were to suddenly start spouting Emily Dickinson

“I’m sorry, Steve…” Clint began, desperate to get this over and done with.  Steve held up his hand to stop him

“I spoke with Fury.  He explained the situation, and the deal that was made to allow you to remain on active service.”  After the accident that destroyed Clint’s hearing, Coulson had argued that the specialist’s skill-set was too valuable to lose, and that they had the tech available to compensate for his disability.  Fury had agreed on the condition that the archer had his hearing checked and cleared on a quarterly basis. 

“I’m happy for thing to continue on the same basis” he continued “and I understand why you felt you couldn’t say anything.  It’s a big admission and we still don’t really know each other that well…”

“Dammit, Steve; couldn’t you just yell at me for a bit?” Clint grinned, it was frustrating how decent the big guy could be at times “I feel bad for not telling you and I put Sara in a really difficult position.”

“I’ll admit I’m a bit disappointed you didn’t feel you could trust me” Steve sat back in his chair and took a mouthful of coffee.  He looked at the archer in silence for a moment. “I truly value the skills and experience you bring to the team, and I’ve got a lot of respect for you as a person.  I hope you remember that; and I really want you to feel you don’t have to hide anything from me.”

“You trying to make a grown man cry?” Clint asked with a rueful chuckle “’Cause if you keep going that way your gonna succeed.”

“I’m just glad you’re back with us”

During those painful hours, when they weren’t sure if Clint was going to make it through, Steve had realised how much the man meant to him; not only as a team mate but as a friend, maybe the first friend he’d made since they brought him out of the ice only a few months before.  He was still struggling to find his feet in this strange new world and the quirky, good natured, archer had proven an unexpected point of stability.  The thought he might lose him so soon, and for such a stupid reason, scared him more than he liked to acknowledge.

“You don’t get rid of me that easily” Clint assured him.

###

Bruce re-read the results, tapping his glasses nervously against his chin.  The S.H.I.E.L.D. index tests for determining ESP were rigorous and designed to eliminate the possibility of chance or cheating. 

A person of average intelligence could expect a score of between 15 to 20% based on pure chance and coincidence.  Someone with superior intelligence, analytical or intuitive ability, like Stark would usually score up to 35 or 40%.  41% and up was an indicator of potential ESP abilities.  Across the various tests, Sara had scored consistently between 55 to 70% which had her bordering on the category of true telepath.  He hadn’t believed them the first time and arranged for the results to be checked anonymously by trusted colleagues.  Each time they’d come back with the same response. 

Either there was a flaw in the tests or Sara was potentially the first example of a genuine telepath they’d found.  The sceptic in him wanted to deny that altogether while the scientist felt the need for further investigation.  What he had no intention of doing was informing Natasha or Nick Fury of his findings.  Bruce had spent years on the run from those who wanted to either use or experiment on him and he had no intention of submitting Sara to the same experience, regardless of her abilities.

Bruce put the results down and tried to recall what he could of the Wolfes and their work.  There had been a lot of talk about enhancing carrier genes as a means of stabilising and developing inherent abilities, stuff which he’d found too close to eugenics for his liking.

Could they have been cold-blooded enough to use their daughters as test subjects? From what he could remember they’d never seemed terribly parental types, and he didn’t think they’d ever mentioned children; or indeed much beyond the narrow borders of their own research.  Shuddering slightly at the thought he locked the notes in results in his drawer and looked up at the clock.  It would be Christmas Eve in 20 minutes.  It was funny how Christmas seemed like a big thing if you hadn’t been able to celebrate it with anyone for four years.  Perhaps Tony being such a big kid about it all helped.

He sat back and rubbed his eyes, feeling more tired than he usually did around this time.  It wasn’t uncommon for him to be here till two or three in the morning; longer if Tony was around and on form.  It had been a strange and stressful few days though, perhaps an early night would be a good idea for a change. 

Seeing Clint sitting at the foot of the stairs leading from the living area to the guest floor surprised him.  The place was in semi darkness and no-one else was about.

“Hey Clint.  What’s up?” The archer looked around sharply. As Bruce got closer could see his face was pale and he was shaking slightly.

“Hey Bruce…” Clint laughed nervously “Sorry, you gave me a bit of a scare.”

Bruce sat down on the step beside him and put a hand on Clint’s forehead.  Slightly clammy but no hint of fever.

“You ok?” There was an anxious sound to Bruce’s voice; he was still unsure what long term effects the genetically enhanced Staph bug which almost killed Clint would have, and he was sensitive to any sign of a potential relapse.

Clint nodded

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just…” he was beginning to look faintly embarrassed “I kinda had a bit of a panic attack and had to sit down.”

It was true in a sense, and it sounded less crazy than telling Bruce he’d had a flashback to the stairs in his dream and what he did when he got to the top of them.

“That’s not unusual after what you’ve been through” Bruce assured him “Your system had a severe shock and it’s still recovering.  Would you like me to get you something?”

“Honestly, I’m fine...  Just need to catch my breath” He shook his head with a laugh “Jeez, can’t even go to the kitchen without scaring someone; what a state I’m in.”

“What do you need?” Bruce asked “I’ll get it for you”

Clint hesitated, this felt lame beyond belief but he didn’t feel his legs would take him up the stairs anytime soon.

“Could you get me a glass of milk please…?”

Bruce was back five minutes later

“Full fat, as the doctor ordered!” He said, handing Clint the glass and producing a pack of Oreos from behind his back “And I even got you cookies.”

“Awww Bruce, you’re a good bro…” Clint took the milk and cookies and forced himself to stand, his face bright red with embarrassment.  He had to get his shit together and stop going to pieces over a stupid dream; no matter how freaky and disturbing it was.

“And you need to get some rest” Bruce patted Clint on the back “Look… I can give you the number of someone I speak to.  He’s got no S.H.I.E.L.D. connection and he’s really good, trustworthy too…”

“A shrink?” Clint sounded apprehensive and uncertain, realising what Bruce was getting at “Thanks man, but…”

“Think about it at least…” Bruce urged him “It can’t hurt.”

###

“You don’t have to stay tonight, you know?” Beth told Sara as she refilled her glass “It’s been nice enough just having you here for the evening and I know Clint’s still not fully recovered.”

“Rented my room out that quickly have you?” laughed Sara “It’s all right, A car’s picking me up tomorrow at 12.  Christmas at Stark Tower doesn’t begin until Tony wakes up, which is usually around lunchtime.”

“My little Sara, living the high life…”  Beth curled up on the couch and put her arm around her sister “and me stuck here listening to Tom and Jared going on about their ‘authentic Mayan experience’ in Guatemala”

“That I am not going to miss!” Sara admitted, nestling into Beth’s side while a quietly purring Tiger re-arranged himself on her lap.

Beth’s ‘Waifs and Strays’ Christmas Dinner which she gave hosted for their, or rather her, various friends stuck in the city for the holidays, were hit and miss affairs as far as Sara was concerned.  Tom and Jared were a particular pain at the moment, going on about how the Chitauri invasion was part of the events predicted by the Mayan calendar for 2012 and part of humanity’s ‘great cosmic evolution’.  Crouching behind a burnt-out car with Signor Rossi and Ms Gorgetti, hoping the missile fire would die down enough for them to get to the shelter of the subway station, hadn’t felt like much of an evolutionary experience.

Sara rested her head on Beth’s shoulder, remembering how the archer and the man in the blue suit had appeared, drawing the fire towards themselves; allowing trapped civilians time to get to safety.  She should tell Clint about that tomorrow, how even before they met he’d saved her life.  It might cheer him up a bit after everything he’d been through.

“Do you think Mom and Dad would have liked Clint?” Sara asked

“God, no! They’d have hated him!” laughed Beth “Can you imagine him, turning up in that scruffy jacket with Lucky trailing muddy paw-prints all over the place…?”

They’d not been bad parents, Beth thought.  It had been a comfortable childhood; piano and ballet lessons, good schools and colleges, all the right things, but never anything she could think of as real warmth.  Sometimes it felt less of a family and more an experiment in ‘perfect parenting’.  She could imagine her parents filling out lab reports every night before they went to bed.  Their death had been a shock, and she’d grieved the way a dutiful daughter ought to, but Sara had been devastated.

Beth couldn’t understand how her sister could really have loved those two cold, distant, people that much.  Perhaps it was the age gap, she’d had eight more years to comprehend their remote correctness, or maybe Sara just had so much love in her it needed an outlet.  That might explain her affection for Clint; a man Beth couldn’t genuinely warm to despite knowing the truth.  Tony Stark’s explanation hadn’t stopped the bad dreams, plus Clint was still old enough to be Sara’s father and no matter what Freud might have to say on the subject that just felt wrong.

“Don’t let that bother you…” Beth assured her sister “Mom and Dad would have hated anyone who wasn’t a geneticist.”

She noticed the time on the clock and kissed Sara on the head

“Merry Christmas, Little Sara.”

 


	7. Truth or Dare?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who’s dreaming who is the question as Sara has another intense encounter with the mysterious and dangerous Ronin  
> Natasha and Fury are both keeping secrets from each other as the Director attempts to find out the truth about Sara and her parents.  
> Natasha allows herself a moment of cautious optimism as a mission is successfully completed and new bonds are formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes  
> Strong eroticism and some adult language.  
> Reviews and comments welcome

_“I was a lonely teenage broncin’ buck, with a pink carnation and a pickup truck”_

His voice was high and clear with a raw, country, edge.  Ronin didn’t bother looking up as Sara entered the shack.  He sat singing to himself, bare-chested and cross-legged, cleaning his rifle, with his t-shirt wound around his head like a bandana.

_“But I knew I was out of luck the day the music died…”_

“Who are you?” she asked quietly, almost to herself “Why are you always in my dreams?”

“You know who I am baby…” He looked up at her with those piercing grey eyes “and why d’you think these are your dreams?”

He put the rifle down and stood up, walking slowly towards her.  Sara stepped away, suddenly fearful, feeling the coarse mud brick of the wall against her back.  Ronin smelled of dust, sweat and oil, his bare skin radiating heat as he bent and kissed her neck, the stubble of his chin and cheek grazing her gently, deliberately.

“Maybe this is my dream” he whispered, hoarse and low “Lonely Ronin in the dusty night; hoping for Lovely Sara, sweet as honey, to take the hurt away.”

Sara put her hands to his chest with the thought of pushing him away, but he let out a long, heartfelt sigh.

“Your hands are so cool, baby…” he closed his eyes and drew in his breath “fresh, like summer rain.”

She tried to push but he drew her in closer, pressed so tight she could feel him hard and ready through the coarse fabric of his camouflage pants.

There was something wrong about this, dreams weren’t meant to be this vivid; this real.  Sara was possessed by a sudden, urgent desire for escape and she twisted to try and break free from Ronin’s grip as he moved in to kiss her. 

“Don’t run from me” he hissed, tightening his arms around her “It’s dangerous.”

“Please… Ronin…” she pleaded.  His voice softened but his hold on her remained firm

“Don’t run from me, Lovely Sara, please…” he was almost begging “They stole something and I don’t know what…”

She took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes, so like Clint’s but for the cold harshness of the stare.  Behind that, looking deeper, she had that same sense of a lost and frightened child trying to protect himself from a brutal world.  

“I don’t understand” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his “What’s going on?  Dreams shouldn’t be like this…”

Ronin pressed his lips to hers hungrily; his strong, warm, tongue probing deep into her mouth while he tugged her loose summer dress away from her shoulders.  His mouth tasted of cigars and bourbon, bitter and stimulating, and Sara responded eagerly to the kiss; needing to taste more of him, while her dress fell around her feet in a puddle of sea-green silk.

She was naked underneath and he growled deep in his throat, an animal sound of arousal and desire.  His hands moved over her body, firm and confident, knowing how and where she longed to be touched.  An unexpected strength rose in her and she pushed him, hard.  Ronin stumbled back, tripping over his own feet, landing flat on the dirt floor.  Raising himself on his elbows he snarled dangerously, anger flashing in his eyes.

Sara stepped forward, kicking off her shoes, planting one bare foot firmly in the middle of his chest.  The toenails were painted a vivid lapis blue, a colour she never used.  One hand pushed her thick, golden-red curls away from her face while the other slid down her body toward what she knew Ronin hungered for.  The pose reminded her of a statue Beth had brought back from India; Kali-Ma, goddess of Death and Liberation, standing on the recumbent form of her consort Shiva.  A dusty black iron image redolent of forbidden female power and magic.

“Is this what lonely Ronin wants?” she purred, teasing herself with the tips of her fingers; a dark, sensual fire mounting in her belly “A taste of Lovely Sara’s honey?”

The snarl faded into a low, guttural, moan and he let himself fall back.  She hadn’t tamed the beast but he was willing to play her game for now. Sara dropped to her knees astride him and pressed her wet fingers against his lips

“Taste!” she commanded.  Ronin took them into his mouth, sucking thirstily, his tongue curling round them to catch every drop.  All the while his gaze held hers, a brooding anger shot through with deep rooted pain.

“Please…” he gasped, tugging at the belt of his pants “Take the hurt away…”

Sara lowered herself onto him slowly, enjoying the way he groaned and clenched his teeth as he fought the urge to grab her hips and thrust.

“Why am I here…?” she demanded, knowing this moment of power couldn’t last against the force of rage and lust she felt in this man. “What do you need from me?”

Ronin stared up at her, his breathing rough and shallow.  For a second the eyes were Clint’s, gentle and bewildered.  The voice his as well, soft and scared

“I can’t remember what they stole… Sara, help me find them…”

Then Clint was gone and Ronin’s steel returned.  His hands grasped her firmly and he rolled so she was on her back with him pressing deep into her until she cried out; her fingernails raking the skin of his back and shoulders while he grazed her neck with his sharp teeth.

“You had your game, Lovely Sara…” he growled, frightening and exciting her at the same time “Now we play by Ronin’s rules…”

###

Clint woke with a start; heart racing, gasping for breath.  It took him a couple of seconds to realise his cock was still twitching, and to feel the sticky warm puddle on his stomach.

_Shit! Not had one of those dreams in years._

There was a lot too, he hadn’t thought he’d be capable of that after earlier tonight.  Maybe there was more life left in this broncin’ buck than he imagined.  Could be the sessions with Dr Forrest were helping, this would certainly give them something different to talk about tomorrow.

Beside him, Sara moved in her sleep and moaned softly.  Sounded like she was having a good dream as well.  Perhaps they should compare notes in the morning and swap ideas?

Humming a few bars of ‘American Pie’ he scooped some of the mess off his stomach with his thumb and popped it into his mouth while he went through to the bathroom to dry himself off

_Mmmm…. Salty!_

He never understood why it freaked some girls out that he liked his own taste. He chuckled, maybe he’d see how much it freaked Tony out the next time he insisted on a game of Truth or Dare

###

“The Wolfe’s research notes are incomplete” Natasha informed Fury “and half of them appear to be in some kind of personal cipher.  Someone cleared out a lot of their files just after their death.”

Fury had his back to her, staring out of his office window across the Potomac.  This wasn’t a surprise to him; they’d hit a similar dead end after the initial investigation

“The daughters?” he asked

“Nothing to connect them with their parent’s work” Natasha confirmed “Their known associates check out and there’s no record of either of them being involved with any of their parent’s former colleagues.”

“What about their DNA results?”  The Director was determined to check every box in this investigation, there was too much at stake.

“No indication of physical enhancement…” she pre-empted Fury’s next question “…and we have no way of determining telepathic ability from DNA markers, if such a thing even exists.”

“Have the Index tests been applied?”  Fury was still staring out of the window, restricting his conversation to the directly interrogatory.  Natasha recognized it as one of the techniques he used to prevent her reading his non-verbal tells.

“Not yet, no.” Natasha told him; that wasn’t a direct lie, Bruce had kept his testing discreet and secret but she’d recognized some of the methods and could guess what he was up to. “But I’m not convinced about them.  I’m sure I would score pretty high based on my own abilities.”

“You have a unique skill-set” the Director conceded.  There is was again, the feeling that whatever had been done to her in the Red Room was more than just sterilisation. “Apply the tests, discreetly…”

“Of course,” she said “we wouldn’t want Agent Barton to get suspicious.”

She made little attempt to hide the sarcasm in her voice.  Natasha’s loyalties to S.H.I.E.L.D. had been stretched thin the last few months, after what they did and made her part of.  It was true what she’d said to Sara, she was very protective of Clint; and just now that was stronger than any connection she felt to the organisation they both notionally belonged to.

“And what about Agent Barton?” Fury finally turned to face her “Still having bad dreams?”

“Not so much since his recovery.” she said “Perhaps it was just a glitch in his ‘debriefing’...”

_Or if he is, he’s keeping it to himself_

If Fury didn’t know, or wasn’t going to ask, about Clint seeing Dr Forrest; she wasn’t about to venture that information, not yet anyway.

“…I think he’s just glad to be back on active service.”

“Yes…” Fury’s eyes bored into hers, alert for any deceit or prevarication, but Natasha had never needed to turn her back to hide her tells. “On that note, we’ve identified that the enhanced individual who attacked Agent Barton received treatment at a clinic on the west coast; a clinic which appears to be a front for an active A.I.M. cell.  We suspect the modified staphylococcus bug originated from the same source.  Given the nature of the potential threat I’ve ordered Commander Hill to brief Captain Rogers later this afternoon.  You may want to get back to New York and liase with the others; this is definitely a situation that merits special attention.”

Advanced Idea Mechanics hadn’t been a significant threat since the late 80’s, after the failure of their attempt to seize the Tesseract and the collapse of their plans to create a force of enhanced ‘superhuman’ weapons.  Some cells remained active though, and it was best to nip any such potential problem in the bud as swiftly as possible.  

Fury thought it best not to mention, for now, that one of the organisations Samuel and Elizabeth Wolfe worked for, around the time of their eldest daughter’s birth, had since been proven to be an A.I.M. shell company.  That was information the Avengers didn’t need to know just yet.

###

“That went reasonably well…” Tony conceded as they watched the S.H.I.E.L.D. STRIKE unit herd the last of the A.I.M. scientists and gunmen into the waiting transport “although, perhaps Natasha should check ‘widdow Kwint’ for any potentially infected boo-boo’s.  We wouldn’t want a repeat of last time.”

“Hey, fuck you, Stark!” retorted Clint with a grin, unstrapping his quiver “No need to get pissy just ‘cause you’re not getting your hands on any of the tech.”

“A.I.M.’s all just back street junkyard stuff these days” Tony tried to sound casual, unwilling to admit that Clint was right on target as usual “Though I wouldn’t mind a look at those…”

He nodded in the direction of what looked like parts for cybernetic limbs being loaded onto the S.H.I.E.L.D. transports along with other pieces of hardware.  The laboratory complex in the abandoned warehouse was bigger than they had first imagined and a whole team of Sci-Ops specialists were on their way out to pick it over inch by inch.

“Worried someone might possibly be doing something better than you?” laughed Natasha

This had been the first mission the four of them had worked together since New York, and the first time working in conjunction with a S.H.I.E.L.D. STRIKE unit.  Natasha guessed it was the real test for the ‘Special Response Team’ Fury had staked his career to create.  If they’d failed to gel the second time around or if they were unable to work with other S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives then the whole future of the Avengers Initiative could be at risk, along with Fury’s job.

Steve had the right command style for this, she admitted.  He didn’t make the mistake of trying to micro-manage; instead trusting his team to make the best use of their own skill-sets within a broad, overall, strategy.  Apart from Steve they were all used to working independently and still had a long way to go to get used to each other’s styles.  She’d worked with Clint often enough and that was easy; you just had to remember the basic rule ‘don’t get in my fucking eye-line’, but Stark’s exuberant show-boating was going to take some getting used to. 

He was good at keeping attention away from everyone else though.

Clint had been apprehensive about working with another S.H.I.E.L.D. team.  No matter what the reason, compromised agents always had a tough time; S.H.I.E.L.D. never forgot and rarely forgave.  After his role in the attack on the Helicarrier there were plenty who thought of him as a dangerous liability at best, and questioned Fury’s judgement in retaining him on active service.  Victoria Hand made it no secret that if she’d had her way he’d be locked up in the lowest level of the Fridge with the key thrown away.  At least she was open and honest in her attitude, Natasha thought; hearing the constant whispers and barbed comments behind her friend’s back had been the worst thing about these past months.

John Garrett’s team had been a good call.  The man was one of Fury’s; hardcore, trustworthy and a bit of a maverick with a brusque, direct approach.  His attitude one of ‘Shit happens, now let’s get on with the job at hand.’ His second in command, Antoine Triplett, was the grandson of one of the original Howling Commando’s; Gabe Jones.  He and Steve bonded instantly.  Gabe had died a couple of years ago, the last of them to go, so it was a bittersweet meeting for the Captain but she saw the way his eyes lit up as he heard about his old friend and comrade’s children and grandchildren; and the long, happy life he’d enjoyed.

The flight from New York could have been a sullen, silent, nightmare; instead it felt almost jovial, pre-mission nerves discharging in jokes and anecdotes.  Garrett had a good store of them and Steve even came out with a couple that proved he wasn’t the blushing schoolgirl Tony made him out to be.  Clint had been quiet and withdrawn, but that was always his way before missions; retreating into himself and finding his centre, saving the wise-ass remarks and quips for the journey back.

She’d caught Clint glancing over at the others a few times, though, noticing the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth and the way his posture became more relaxed and comfortable.  He’d certainly been happier and more at ease in the weeks following his recovery. Concentrating on building his weight and strength back up had drawn his attention away from whatever was happening inside his head, and having Sara living at the Penthouse for most of that time certainly wasn’t hurting.  Telepath, Empath or not, there was something about her that calmed and settled Clint; making him seem more like the man she’d known before.  For that alone she was willing to be friends with the girl

“Strap yourselves in, boys!” Natasha called back to them as she settled into the pilot’s seat “Take off in 5.”

She was looking forward to putting some more air-miles under her belt and these new Quinjets were a pleasure to handle.  Natasha glanced back at the men trading jokes and insults as they buckled in and she smiled quietly.  Maybe, just maybe, Fury had made the right call and things had a chance of working out.

“Right!” said Tony gleefully, rubbing his hands together as the jet’s engines hummed into life “Truth or Dare?”

 

 


	8. Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has an in-depth discussion with his therapist after a particularly vivid nightmare and a radical therapeutic exercise is suggested  
> Fury gets the sense he’s being deceived and new bonds are strengthened over dinner at Stark Tower, while Clint and Sara take another step forward in their relationship  
> A late-night phone-call will change the game for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes  
> Strong eroticism and some adult language.  
> Reviews and comments welcome

“This is your hour, Clint…” Dr Forrest reminded him “We can talk about whatever you want, or nothing at all if you prefer.”

Cint sat hunched forward on the sagging couch, elbows resting on his knees, running his hands through his hair and trying to fight back the nausea he could feel rising up again.

“I…” he started to speak but his voice cut off in a dry croak and he looked appealingly at the doctor.

The older man smiled and stood up

“I’ll get that coffee you insisted you didn’t want” he paused “unless you’d like something stronger?”

Clint shook his head, if he started drinking right now he’d just keep on going.  It had been two weeks since the last fragment of nightmare and he thought it was over and done with.  Then, last night, he’d stumbled from bed almost blinded by panic; crashing into the bathroom just as he started throwing up violently.  Huge, painful, retches even when there was nothing left to bring up from his stomach.  3:45am, same as before; except this time, it wasn’t just brief flashes he remembered.

He rubbed Lucky’s belly while Dr Forrest fixed the coffee; the doc was dog friendly, that had been the first point in his favour, the second being he didn’t seem like any shrink Clint had ever been sent to.  Sitting in a comfortable, messy, living-room talking to the old guy in the red sweater felt good; like he was visiting a trusted uncle or something.  He should have guessed that Bruce Banner’s therapist would be a bit different. 

From what Clint could gather, Dr Forrest had known Bruce long before his ‘accident’ and was the only person from his former life the scientist had kept contact with.  The analyst was now largely retired from practise, treating only a few select clients, but had taken Clint on following Bruce’s recommendation and a couple of trial sessions.  He took the mug the doctor handed him and swallowed half of the sweet, steaming black brew in a single go; cradling the mug in his hands and staring down into it as he summoned the courage to speak.

“I can… I remember it all, doc.” He stammered “beginning to end… every bit…”

He put the mug down on the table and buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.  Dr Forrest sat quietly, waiting for Clint to calm down in his own time.  The analyst had the feeling today’s session was going to take a lot longer than the standard therapy hour, but that was the case with most of his clients at one stage or another. 

“Would you like to tell me?” he asked gently.

Carefully and precisely, in a flat monotone, like he was delivering a mission report; Clint spelled out the stages of the dream from the first approach to the house all the way through to the moment where the dark-haired woman finally gave up holding on to life and he had the sense of being rewarded, as if successfully completing a new trick. Dr Forrest waited until Clint finished wiping his eyes and blowing his nose before speaking.

“Even though it may not seem like it, this is a very positive step” the doctor assured him “Now that we have the full dream laid out in front of us we can start working through it, and you can begin to find out what your subconscious is trying to say to you…”

Clint looked up at him, his eyes dull and haunted

“What if it’s trying to tell me I butchered three people?”

“Clint, we’ve been over this before…” Dr Forrest sighed, his patient’s fear that these might be memories rather than dreams was the most challenging part of this therapy.  Once again, he patiently covered the same ground; the lack of evidence to support repressed memory syndrome, the irrational and associative nature of the dreaming mind, even the basic fact that a crime so horrific as the one described would not have gone un-noticed by police or media.

“…now, was there anything different about yesterday that could have acted as a trigger?”

Clint leaned back against the cushions and tried to think.  The doc was right; it was the obsession, more than the dream itself, that was fucking with his mind.  He had enough real death in his past to give him a different nightmare every night without having to imagine more.

“Sara!” he said, suddenly realising “She stayed over at Beth’s last night…”

Despite their mutual insistence that they weren’t living together, Sara had been spending an increasing number of nights at his apartment in the Penthouse; to the extent that the others were more likely to comment on her absence than her presence.  He also couldn’t help but observe his own, admittedly meagre, selection of toiletries having less and less space in the bathroom.  Dr Forrest smiled

“Have you noticed, the most extreme nightmares are occurring when Ms Wolfe is absent?” he asked.  Over the weeks, they’d had some very in-depth discussions about Clint’s past experiences of abandonment and betrayal, it might be that her being away triggered some deep anxiety reaction connected with these.  Equally possible, given how much Clint had spoken of his profound love for the woman, some part of his psyche might be trying to protect her from the worst manifestations of his inner trauma.

“Is that your prescription, Doc?” Clint laughed for the first time “Sara to be applied three times nightly for the rest of my life? ‘Cause I’m up for them meds.”

Dr Forrest raised an eyebrow

“I’m glad to hear Performance Anxiety isn’t an issue we have to deal with…” he sat back in his chair and smiled “Seriously, though, I do think this is a very significant breakthrough on your journey, and next week I’d like us to start properly working through these images so you can get to what lies beneath them.”

The doctor paused, what he was about to suggest was unorthodox; but this was far from a standard case and called for some creative thinking.

“You said you were sure you could find the house from your dream?  I think you should try and do that”

Clint looked at him in astonishment

“I don’t understand…”

“You’ve given me a very precise description of its location, appearance and layout.  If you go to the place where you believe it to be and there’s nothing that matches your description, then perhaps you can begin to let go of your obsession that you really committed this crime.”

Clint swallowed hard, his nervousness apparent to the doctor

“And if there is?”

The doctor smiled again.  He’d considered that possibility; it wasn’t implausible Clint had seen, or been in, a house of that description in the past and was using it as an anchor for his dream

“Even better, we can examine the history of the property together and dispel these notions once and for all!” he leaned forward and took Clint’s hand “You’ve told me about being a killer, Clint, but I don’t for one minute believe you’re a murderer.”

###

“So, can we forget about Sara Wolfe for the Asset Index?” asked Maria Hill, handing the tablet back to Fury.  The test results submitted showed her scoring in the region of 25%-35%, exactly what would be expected from a normal young woman of Sara’s intelligence and aptitude.

“Perhaps…” replied the Director, bringing up a different set of results and returning the tablet to his second in command “…but I’m more interested in the anonymous results that Dr Banner sent for independent verification late last year.”

Maria read through them, her face carefully impassive

“You think Agent Romanoff submitted falsified results?”

Director Fury got up and walked over to the window.  It was one of the few habits that Maria had learned to associated with uncertainty or nervousness in him; the automatic urge to shield himself partially from the scrutiny of others.

“I think…” Fury chose his words carefully “I think we can no longer count on Agent Romanoff’s objectivity in matters related to Agent Barton.”

“You’re already asking a lot from her” Almost nine months down the line, Maria was still having a hard time processing what they’d done “Perhaps this is taking it too far?”

“You’re comfortable with Agent Barton being in an intimate relationship with a potential telepath?” he asked with a note of sarcasm “Because even without the present circumstances that would throw up a great many problems none of us need right now.”

She shook her head

“No, I’m not.  I just feel…”

Coulson, she could understand; if they hadn’t acted quickly one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most valuable agents would have been lost.  She also had to acknowledge they needed a live test subject for the effectiveness of Project TAHITI. Barton, though? Despite Fury maintaining it was a similar scenario, something about it felt more like expediency; sweeping things under the carpet rather than confront a painful truth.

“…we can’t be sure we would have lost Barton.  There were other alternatives.”

“There were too many risks, and limited time” Fury stated “A call had to be made…”

“I just hope we made the right one.” Maria said quietly, placing the tablet back down on the Director’s desk.

Fury shrugged and turned to face her

“Regardless, I want the Wolfe sisters placed under close surveillance.  Discreetly.”

###

“…and so, he said to me ‘Either I go, or you go; but the damn donkey stays!’” The entire table erupted into laughter

“John, I can’t believe that’s true!” exclaimed Pepper as she refilled their glasses

“Trip, tell her!” Garrett ordered

“Every word of it, Ms Potts!” Trip assured her, winking at Steve “Would the grandson of a Howling Commando lie to you?”

Trip had called Steve earlier in the day, he and Garrett had an overnight stop in New York and wondered if Steve and the others wanted to join them for a drink.  Inevitably this had led to dinner at the Penthouse and an invitation to stay over.

“I gotta say, Mr Stark” Garrett sat back and swirled the whiskey round in his glass “This is a damn sight better than the stopovers we’re used to.  Last one was nothing but a mattress and no hot water.”

“I’ve told you, it’s Tony” Stark insisted “I rarely meet anyone from S.H.I.E.L.D. that I don’t want to punch in the mouth after the first five minutes so I like to make the most of those encounters.”

“Tony it is, then!” Garrett raised his glass in salute “And I know just how you feel.”

“Do you wanna move in with me?” blurted Clint as Sara hunted in the freezer for more ice-cream “I mean properly, not just a few nights a week.”

She turned to look at him with a tub of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough in her hand, he stood there with his hands thrust deep into his pockets like a nervous teenager

“Is this us becoming a real couple?” she asked with a smile “Or are you just looking for a free dog-sitter?”

“Can’t it be both?” He was giving her the puppy-dog eyes again “Please…  I’d really like you to, I’ll even stop leaving my boxers in the bathroom sink.”

“Liar…” she laughed “Anyway, wouldn’t Tony have to say it was ok?”

“Oh, no problem!” retorted Clint, cheerfully.  He shouted over to the others “Hey, Stark! Okay if my girlfriend moves in with me?”

Sara slapped him playfully on the arm.

“I thought she already had!” Tony replied “She drew up this week’s washing-up rota, remember?”

The billionaire paused for a moment then turned around

“Hang on, I’m rich.  Why have we got a washing-up rota?”

“Because you can’t keep hold of a maid” Pepper reminded him “The last one didn’t stay long enough to take her coat off.”

As Tony laughed and argued with the rest over whose turn it was to do what, Clint slipped his arms around Sara’s waist.

“Please…?” he asked again, quieter and more serious “Having you with me it just… It makes me happy just to know you’re here.”

On a purely practical level it made sense, Sara thought.  The Gallery was 15 minutes’ walk away, opposed to the hour or more it took to commute from Beth’s apartment and really, who wouldn’t want to live in a place like this? The V.I.P. feel of breezing through security to the private elevator, sensing the jealous stares of the fangirls loitering in the Atrium, was enough to sell her on the idea on its own.

Then there was this gentle, courageous, happy-sad man; smelling of salt and Bay Rum, who stood with his arms about her, eagerly awaiting her answer.  She could feel his love wrapped around her as palpably as she could the warmth and strength of his embrace.  The place could have nothing but a mattress and cold water, she’d still want to be with her Hawkeye. She kissed him lightly on the lips

“I’ll break the news to Beth tomorrow.”

“Finally!” declared Tony with relief “Now before you two disappear off to do unmentionable things with a tub of ice-cream, how about a few rounds of Cards Against Humanity?”

“You’re going to love this, Steve” Garrett assured him.

###

It was surprisingly warm for an early March night, even up this high, and Sara just needed a thin sweater round her shoulders as she stood on the terrace and looked out at the view.  Indoors the party had started to wind down; early for an evening at Stark’s, but Garrett and Trip had a 6am start and Pepper was obviously in the mood for some ‘personal time’ with Tony.

“Quite a view ain’t it, Red?” Garrett came up beside her, finishing his final whiskey of the evening “Must be pretty crazy living here at times.”

“Once you get used to all the high-tech luxury it’s strangely normal” she told him “Like a regular flat-share, if your room-mates happen to be a top-secret team of spies, assassins and superheroes.”

“You got a strange idea of normal, Red!” Garrett laughed “Stark tells me you’re thinking of going into business for yourself; seems like you’re having a lot of big life-changes right now.”

“Well, it’s more an idea Tony threw at me” she admitted “’Personal Art Consultant’; buying art for those with money but no time or taste.  He thinks I have talent for it; that I can tell what people need rather what they want.”

Garrett smiled to himself and drained his glass

“Well, Red, as I always say, if you got a Gift; learn how to use it.”

###

The apartment felt different with Sara’s stuff in it, Clint had to admit.  Okay it was mainly just her books and cds, a couple of rugs and throws and the Tiffany lamps that belonged to her grandmother, but it made the place more like a home, rather than a luxurious crash-pad.  Since he was 16 he’d lived out of a holdall, never in the same place for more than a few days most of the time.  Even after being recruited for S.H.I.E.L.D., ‘home’ was whichever sterile room in the Hub accommodation block was vacant.  Staying at Stark Tower was the longest he’d ever lived anywhere since Mom and Dad got smeared under that 18-Wheeler.

Other than his guitar and a couple of photographs of Tasha and Phil, everything he owned was functional and could be carried over one shoulder.  Not much for a man of 42.  Fuck!  No wonder Beth kept giving him black looks while he was helping Sara pack and move her stuff.  If he had a baby sister, he sure as hell wouldn’t want her hooked up with a guy old enough to be her dad; especially not a guy like him.  Fair enough, Beth had eased up a lot on her little sister since Stark had produced that cover story, but it was plain she still didn’t like or trust Clint and he couldn’t blame her for that.

He kicked off his boots and lay back on the bed, folding his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling.  Maybe it was time he thought about putting down a root or two, and setting up home with that beautiful, smart, funny girl who for some reason loved this dumb Iowa hick.

Almost on cue, the bathroom door opened and Sara emerged, striking a classic glamour pose; back pressed to the doorframe, knee slightly raised, throwing him a sultry sideways glance through the curls of hair that fell over her face.  Under the sheer silk negligée, she wore only black stockings and fur-trimmed high-heel slippers.  Clint gulped, audibly.

“Going my way, soldier?” she asked in a rich, sensual, contralto

“Awwww baby…” he groaned “All the fucking way…”

She let the negligée slip from her shoulders as she walked towards the bed, hips gently swaying.  Clint tugged his t-shirt off and threw it to one side as Sara mounted the bed and slowly crawled up his body, letting her lips travel lightly over the skin of his stomach and chest until they were pressed to his.  She tasted of cherries, fresh and sweet and he tangled his fingers in her hair to prolong the kiss as he kicked off his sweatpants and boxers.

A shudder of raw pleasure ran through him as she squeezed his nipple gently but firmly.  He’d never met a woman who could do the things she did to him.  It was like some part of her inhabited his skin, not just knowing what he desired but wanting the same herself.  He gazed into her eyes as their lips parted

“Baby, you’re perfect…” he whispered “Like I conjured you in a dream.”

“Maybe you did” she smiled and kissed him again, slowing working her way back down his neck and over his chest until…

“Oh God!” his body tensed and his fingers gripped the bedsheets as Sara’s warm, sweet mouth closed around him; her hands splayed over his chest delicately teasing the skin with the tips of her nails, making him shiver and twitch in expectation of more; muscles trembling and spasming as the sensations washed through him.  All the while she held his gaze with hers and he remembered the words of one of his old marine sergeants ‘Son, you will never truly know a perfect moment until you’re looking into the eyes of a beautiful woman sucking your dick.’

As his hips convulsed he let out a hoarse, wordless cry, fading to a deep moan, and relaxed back; his skin covered with a faint sheen of sweat.  Lying there, in the warm, dazed, afterglow, Clint was dimly aware of her lips moving back up his torso, her tongue caressing navel and nipples with delicate flicks, until her mouth was on his and he could savour their mingled tastes; he’d never had a woman who’d kissed him like that and the novel excitement had him ready again faster than he could have imagined.

He growled deep in his chest; a hungry, animal sound, and rolled Sara onto her back as her legs wrapped around his hips.

“Aww Baby” he murmured, voice thick and deep with lust “Hope you’re ready to finish what you started.”

###

Sara slept peacefully in his arms.  Clint was dog-tired too, his body reminding him he wasn’t 25 anymore, even though tonight he’d felt like it.  She was going to be out of town for the next couple of days, Clint remembered, a buying trip to Chicago with Rossi. That was the perfect opportunity to do what Dr Forrest had suggested and start laying that damn nightmare to rest once and for all.

Lucky would enjoy a couple of days in the country anyway and he could do with a bit of fresh air himself.

###

Just after 2am the harsh, insistent, ringing of the telephone woke Dr Forrest.  He’d never used an answering machine at night; a couple of his clients kept somewhat unusual hours and he liked to be available for them anytime.

“Charles Forrest speaking…” he yawned into the phone, switching on the bedside lamp and reaching for his glasses.  He couldn’t hear anything except for what sounded like distant, hoarse, breathing

“Hello…  Who’s there?” he asked; after a short pause a small, frightened, voice responded

“Doc…  it’s Clint.”

“Clint?” Dr Forrest sat up, instantly wide awake “What’s happened? Are you all right?”

There was another brief pause before the reply came

“I found the house, Doc…  The house from the dream…”

“And…?” Dr Forrest could feel his heart pounding, something about Clint’s voice was making him very afraid

“You were wrong, Doc… wasn’t a dream…” came the scared, little-boy, voice again “It’s real… I killed ‘em…”


	9. All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday night should be pizza, movies and beer; instead, life is torn apart by the revelation of a terrible secret and the lengths S.H.I.E.L.D. went to in order to hide it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes  
> Strong emotions and references to murder.  
> Reviews and comments welcome

“Oh, not Willie Wonka!” groaned Tony “I hate that film!”

“Tony!” said Pepper reproachfully as she checked the pizzas in the oven “It’s Steve’s night to choose the movie, let him have what he wants.”

“I can pick something else if it’s no good” Steve said quietly to Sara “Clint thought I might like something called Twilight?”

“We’ll stick with this, it’s a classic” Sara assured him with a smile, making a mental note to have a word with Clint when he got back. “Tony probably just gets freaked out by the Oompa Loompas”

“Of course I do!” he admitted, strolling over to the bar “Orange singing midgets? Any right-thinking person would.”

He turned at the sound of boots on the stairs and saw Clint come marching into the living area

“Pigeon, thank God! Maybe you…”

Clint ignored him and walked straight over to Natasha who was sitting in the kitchen idly munching on carrot sticks while she talked with Pepper. 

Clint’s face was pale and he was shaking, his body language tense and aggressive.  The others exchanged glances, sensing something was wrong.  He reached into his jacket pocket.

“Who were they?” he demanded, throwing something down on the countertop in front of Natasha “The people at the farmhouse… the people I killed.”

The photograph was damaged, dirty and faded as if it had been lying outdoors for some time.  Five people at a table spread with party food; a dark-haired woman, a brown-haired boy of maybe seven or eight and a fair-haired girl holding a helium balloon in the shape of the number five.  Phil Coulson had his arm around the boy, making rabbit-ears with his fingers behind his head, while the girl sat on Natasha Romanoff’s lap.  They were all smiling and laughing, the woman pointing at whoever was taking the picture.

“Nat…?” Pepper looked down at the picture then back up at Natasha, surprised by the way she pressed her fingers to her mouth; moisture glistening in her eyes.

“What is all this?” asked Tony as he unstoppered the bourbon “and what farmhouse? Pigeon, have you been huffing the glue for your bow-case again?”

“The one in my dream” Clint said in a hard, flat voice, still staring at his friend “The one that shouldn’t exist… But it does, don’t it, Tasha? And you knew them, you and Phil; and Lucky used to live there too.”

He’d driven for hours, not sure where he was going; relying on muscle memory for when and where to turn.  His route took him deep into West Virginia, off the main highway and along narrow country roads.  He’d been laughing about that, singing the John Denver song and beating time on the steering wheel, when Lucky started barking in the passenger seat and he saw the cedar tree by the entrance to the track.  He sat and stared at it for a while, forcing himself to breathe while his stomach churned and knotted.

Lucky leapt out as soon as the car door opened and raced down the track exuberantly.  Clint ran down after him, stopping dead the moment he saw the house.  Just the way he remembered it in the moonlight.  The swing and roundabout in the garden, the barn behind it.  Lucky liked to sleep out there in summer, up in the hayloft, that’s why he hadn’t been in the house.  The place was shuttered up, sealed and empty; didn’t look to have been abandoned too long.  Months rather than years. 

Hadn’t been too hard for him to get in; easy as the first time and it had been dark then, the dawn light just starting to creep up.  A few bits of furniture still sat in the dusty rooms but everything else had been cleared out.  Darker patches on the walls showed where pictures had been.

The carpets were gone, but the bloodstains upstairs could still be seen where the blood had soaked into the wood.  There’d been a lot of it, he remembered, no amount of scrubbing or sanding would shift those.

He’d run outside and leaned against the porch; vomiting up the burger, fries and coffee from earlier.  That was when he saw it, in a pile of rotting leaves and old magazines.  All sign of the people who lived there had been removed; but even the best can miss something.  The photograph must have fallen and been forgotten by whoever sterilised the place.

“I cut the boy’s throat at the top of the stairs.  He didn’t even have time to yell, he thought it was his dad standing there.  Then I went through to the girl’s room…”

“Clint, please stop…” Sara whispered faintly. She felt dizzy and unsteady, overwhelmed by the strangeness of what was happening.  Bruce put his arm about her shoulders and led her to one of the couches, saying something she didn’t quite catch.  If Clint had heard her, he paid no attention.  Steve could see the way Natasha flinched slightly as Clint spoke.  She knew what he was talking about. 

“…you know how sharp I keep my knife, don’t you Tasha?  That didn’t take long. Now, the woman; that was real Jack the Ripper stuff.  I took my time there…”

“Okay that’s enough!” Steve ordered, stepping forward, determined to put a stop to this craziness “I don’t know what’s going on here but…”

Natasha interrupted him

“You married Laura on 17th February 2002, five months before you were brought in to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Her measured, precise tones couldn’t hide the sadness and pain.  She held the crumpled, faded photograph in her hands; looking down at the faces of the people she’d loved as her own family, unable to meet Clint’s stare. Tony felt like he was frozen in place, watching from a remote distance as Clint shook his head; anger, confusion and fear in his eyes. 

“When Fury recruited you, he and Coulson agreed to keep her off the files” Natasha continued “You wanted her safe and secret…”

“That… that’s not true” he stammered, his voice thick and choking “I never…”

“Cooper was born on 24th September 2004, seven weeks before you recruited me; Lila on 9th March 2007.  You and Laura asked me to be her godmother.  You took this photo on her 5th birthday” It took every shred of Natasha’s self-control to stop her voice from breaking “They were your family, Clint.”

“No… no… this is crazy…” Clint took a step back, bewildered and afraid “Tasha… why… why you doing this to me?”

He stared round at the others, his eyes wild and desperate

“This is a dream, right? This is still part of that crazy fucking dream…”

“Oh God!” Tony groaned in horror.  As usual, the billionaire’s thought process was several steps ahead of everyone else’s and he felt like he was going to throw up. 

Clint saw the anguished look in Tony’s eyes, the glance he gave to Bruce who sat there with his arms around a frightened Sara. 

“Tash… no…” he whimpered “Please… it’s not true…”

“Fury told us he got them to a safe house” There was anger in her voice, she could hold down the grief for the moment but not that. “That he’d take us to them after the debrief…”

Clint took another step backwards, missing his footing and falling onto the rug.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sara get up to run to him and he threw out his hand to stop her

“No! Please… Bruce, keep her away from me!” he begged “I… I’m not safe right now”

Bruce held Sara close to him; he could feel her shaking uncontrollably, hands pressed to her mouth and eyes wide in fear.  If she was an Empath as Natasha had suggested, she must be feeling every ounce of Clint’s panic and terror right now.  He was barely controlling the growling, shifting force within him.  For some unaccountable reason the ‘Other Guy’ liked Hawkeye and seeing him in this state of shock and confusion made him restless.

Clint scrambled across the rug until his back was pressed against one of the couches and he could go no further

“Oh Jesus… what have I done...?” he whispered, more to himself than the others in the room “Why don’t I remember them…?”

Steve finally found himself in motion, lifting Clint up off the floor and helping him sit on the couch.  The smaller man’s breathing was fast and shallow and he could see the muscles trembling and twitching under the skin as his mind and body fought against what he was being told. 

“Hold it together. Clint.” He urged him, gripping the archers hand firmly; he turned to stare at Natasha “What the hell is happening here?”

“Fury told me after they took him away” She couldn’t keep her voice from shaking any more “It was Loki, he thought it would be ‘amusing’ to have Clint kill his family.”

Tony had never imagined a room with seven people in it could be so silent.  Apart from the soft background hum of the air conditioning and Clint’s hoarse breathing there was not a sound or a movement.  The silence was broken by Clint’s thin, agonised whining as he collapsed sideways onto the couch, curling up into a ball as he physically tried to protect himself from the assault on his mind.  Tony never wanted to hear a noise like that again in his life.

Sara couldn’t stand it any longer, she broke free from Bruce and ran over to him, taking his head in her hands.  Clint grasped at her arms blindly

“Don’t hate me…” he pleaded “I don’t remember…”

“How did this happen?” Tony demanded.  He didn’t want to shout at Natasha, her own distress was plain to anyone who knew her; but she was the one who’d held the secret. He could feel Pepper clinging on to his arm and shoulder, his partner’s hands trembling violently.  They’d all become participants in Clint’s nightmare.  Was it only a quarter hour ago they’d been arguing about what movie to watch over pizza and beer?

“With all the chaos after the theft of the Tesseract they were too late sending an extraction team.” Natasha sighed deeply, fighting to hold herself together. “Coulson found them.  Laura had become like a sister to him over the years.  Fury said he couldn’t stop crying all the way back”

Tony recalled the difference in Coulson when he’d encountered the Agent on the Helicarrier; a remoteness as if he’d been hit by some brutal grief since their meeting in New York, a grief he was still trying to process.

Natasha thought of her own numb horror when she heard the news, her anger at Fury for failing the trust Clint had placed in him.  The delay had been a matter of hours but that was enough.  The Director told her he was afraid Clint would commit suicide, or suffer a total mental breakdown, when he found out. So, he had made a call…

“What did they do to me?” Clint leapt to his feet, anger boiling up in his voice as he tapped viciously at his temples “Why aren’t they in here anymore?”

“I don’t know what they did, but when you came back your memories were different; like they’d gone back to the moment before you first met Laura and rewrote everything.”

“They re-wrote his neural pathways?” Bruce exclaimed in astonishment “That… that’s just about feasible, but we don’t have the tech for that, do we?”

“It sounds like someone does” Tony’s voice was dark with anger, he looked at Steve and saw the disgust and disbelief in the other man’s eyes.  S.H.I.E.L.D. had failed to protect Clint’s family, then ripped every memory of them from the man’s mind; now that mind was breaking apart in front of them

“You knew!” Clint stared at Natasha with anger and disbelief “You’re supposed to be my friend and you knew! All along… seeing what I was going through…  You lied to me.”

Those last words, said with such pain and heartache.  Sara reached out to put her arm around him but he flinched back

“No, Sara please… you don’t know who I am…”  He couldn’t look her in the eye anymore “The man you loved wasn’t real, they made him up to hide a murderer”

“Clint, that’s not true…” she begged him, trying to turn his face towards her “I love you.  Please… look at me”

“I can’t!” he cried, pulling himself away and burying his face in the back of the couch “I don’t want you to see what I am.  Bruce, please; get her away from me.”

Bruce put his hands on Sara’s shoulders and she looked up at him in distress

“Bruce…” she pleaded

“Just for a little while” he whispered gently, helping her up and leading her towards Pepper “until he’s had a chance to calm down.”

Pepper wrapped her arms around the younger woman’s shoulders as she wept in anguish, unable to articulate the pain tearing at her heart.  Clint was still huddled into the corner of the couch, his whole body shaking violently.

“Fury made me promise…” Natasha began

“THEY WERE MY FAMILY!!!!!” Clint screamed, his voice disintegrating into a terrible, anguished wailing.  Pepper could feel Sara begin to collapse in her arms.

“Tony!” she hissed urgently.  Stark caught Sara before she fell and carried her up the stairs to his study on the mezzanine.

Steve put his hand on Natasha’s arm.

“I think you’d better go for now” he said quietly, not in an unkind way, but it was plain to him that her continued presence was only going to make things worse “We’ll speak about this properly tomorrow.”

She nodded and got up, heading towards the elevator.  For a moment, she paused and looked in Clint’s direction.  He was still curled up on the couch, his back to everyone, sobbing painfully.  She opened her mouth to say something but then thought better of it and left.

Bruce crouched beside Clint and placed his hand gently on his back, feeling him flinch and shudder at the touch.

“Clint, come with me.  I’ll give you something to help you sleep and we can talk about what to do in the morning.”

Clint turned to look at him, the archer’s face was red; streaked with tears and mucus. 

“They stole ‘em from me, Bruce” he moaned “I killed my kids then they stole ‘em from me.”

“I know Clint, I know.” Bruce said sadly, helping his friend to rise “Come with me, we’ll figure something out.”

Figure something out? All Bruce wanted right now was for the ‘Other Guy’ to tear the Triskelion down stone by stone and sow the ground with salt.

As Bruce led him towards the stairs, Clint glanced back towards Steve and Pepper

“I’m sorry” was all he said

###

Clint snorted the sedatives Bruce had given him out of his nostril.  It was an old trick and a good one if you could manage it.  Huff the pills up instead of swallowing them, you’d absorb some through the mucus membrane of the sinus but not much.

He had to get away, that was clear.  He couldn’t trust S.H.I.E.L.D. any more, and he didn’t like to think what they’d do to him now.  He couldn’t be around anyone, especially not Sara. The man she’d fallen in love with was a lie and he couldn’t be sure the real Clint Barton wouldn’t do something to hurt her.  He couldn’t even be sure who the real Clint Barton was now.  All he knew was that every time he closed his eyes he saw his wife and children dying at his hands.  They’d stolen everything except the memory of killing them. 

Maybe all of it had been a lie he told himself, and deep down he was still Ronin.

He had a drop box in the bus station at Newark.  Money, gun, ammo, I.D., passport and a burner phone; enough to get him on the move properly.  He knew how to hide so they couldn’t find him.

He grabbed his bow case and quiver.  That and his knife were all he needed right now.  Lucky jumped off the couch with an excited ‘wuff’. Were they going on another adventure?

“Good boy” he murmured “Stay!”

The dog would only be a liability on the run, he was safer here.  On the pillow, he left a short note, scrawled in his bad handwriting

_Sara I love you, but I can’t bear you looking at me after what I done.  I don’t want you to get hurt cause of me. Stick close to Tony & Pepper. Steve & Bruce’ll look after you.  You’re the only ones who never lied to me.  Take care of Lucky, please?_

The door closed behind him.  With luck, he’d be out of town before they noticed he was gone.

 

 


	10. In the Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint’s disappearance creates problems for everyone as the other Avengers try to deal with what’s happened and the ongoing implications.  
> Bruce feels compelled to share what he’s discovered about Sara while Clint vanishes further into the night.  
> With Clint declared rogue and hunted by S.H.I.E.L.D., Beth gets drawn into the mess resulting in a badly judged conversation with Sara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes  
> Slight references to murder.  
> Reviews and comments welcome

“Pepper, he’s in so much pain…” Sara rested her head against the older woman’s shoulder, staring at the note in her hands and trying her hardest not to cry again “I just want to hold him… to tell him I still love him…”

“I know you do, sweetheart” Pepper said gently, stroking her hair. “We all want to know he’s safe.”

“Well, I’ve got Jarvis scanning road traffic cameras to try and pick up Clint’s junkheap of a car.  At least that’s a start” Tony told them as he started brewing a fresh pot of coffee.  He shook his head in frustration “I should’ve anticipated something like this.”

He felt like kicking himself, Clint taking to his heels was such an obvious risk in hindsight.  He’d asked Jarvis to monitor him as a matter of course, but the archer had shown himself adept in bypassing the User Interface in the past. 

“We could talk about what we should’ve done all night” replied Steve “None of us are exactly thinking straight right now…” 

Steve was worried.  Clint had left his phone behind, which was a bad sign, taking only his bow-case and quiver; not even a change of clothes as far as they could see.  In his current state, there was a risk he could pose a real threat to himself or others.

“So what?” responded Tony sharply, his nerves fraying “We all get a good night’s sleep and take a fresh start in the morning, all the while Clint’s getting further toward the horizon?”

Steve shook his head, choosing to avoid getting into a verbal sparring match with Tony just now.  That was the last thing they needed

“I’ll call Natasha, see if she has any idea where he might be heading” He paused, uncomfortable with what he had to say next “…and we need to decide when to call this in to Fury.”

“Steve, please…” begged Sara “Can’t we give him just a little time?  They’ve hurt him so much already, he just needs some space to get his head together…”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. does have a pretty tight protocol when it comes to ‘absent’ agents” Tony reminded him “We owe Pigeon a chance to wing his own way back to the roost.”

Steve sighed.  Tony and Sara were right, but there was still the fact that Clint was a dangerous man with a grudge and the will to act on it.  He saw the plea in Sara’s eyes, her fear of what S.H.I.E.L.D. would do to Clint now.  He sat down beside her and took her hand

“I’ll give him 48 hours” he promised “But if he hasn’t been in touch by Monday morning I’ll have to call it in.”

_And God help us if he does something stupid in the meantime_

“Thank you, Steve” Sara kissed his hand “Clint doesn’t want to hurt anyone, he just needs some space.”

Steve frowned slightly, certain he hadn’t said that last part aloud; maybe he had, the night was tiring them all out.  Sara could hardly keep her eyes open, the poor girl had been pushed to the limit. He glanced at Pepper

“I think you should take her to bed, she needs to rest”

Pepper nodded and helped Sara to her feet

“C’mon, sweetheart…” her voice was soft and maternal “Time to get some sleep, it’s been a hard night for all of us.”

“Poor kid” murmured Tony as the two women left “She doesn’t deserve all this…”

“Do any of us?” asked Steve, heading over to the bar.  Liquor might not have that much of an effect on him now, but he sure as hell needed a drink. “We all know Clint’s not going to be back by Monday, a man doesn’t leave a note like that if he’s just planning on being away for a weekend.”

“We know” said Bruce softly, joining the other two men at the bar.  He’d been sitting on the couch, saying little but deep in thought “Sara does as well, but for now she needs to believe there’s a chance he’ll be back.”

Steve poured large measures of Scotch for himself and Tony, together with a ginger ale for Bruce.  On a nod from the scientist he put a dash of the Scotch in there as well.  Bruce rarely drank, but he made the odd exception for special occasions.  This certainly counted.

“I’ll call Natasha after this” Steve took a large swallow of the whiskey, enjoying the burning sensation in his throat. “Though God knows what Clint’s going to do in this state.  Even she might not be able to predict it.”

He’d seen the look in Natasha’s eyes as she spoke about Clint’s family; the love and the deep burning pain of loss.  He couldn’t feel angry with her for keeping this secret.  It must have been tearing her up inside, having to behave normally around them, knowing the truth and unable to show her grief.  He’d save the anger for the man who put his friends through this horror. He took another drink, something was bugging him.  It seemed stupid but he had to say it

“Guys, this sounds a bit crazy…” he hesitated as Tony and Bruce emerged from their own thoughts and looked at him

“Crazier than what’s already happened?” asked Tony “Fire away, tonight can’t get any stranger.”

“It’s just…” he hesitated again “You ever get the feeling that sometimes Sara knows what you’re thinking?”

“All the time…” laughed Tony “Terrible trait in a woman.  Glad I don’t have that problem with Pepper.  Bruce...?”

Bruce was staring down into his glass, swirling it so the ice rattled; chewing his bottom lip the way he always did when nervous or worried about something.  It looked like he was debating something deep inside

“Bruce… penny for them?” Tony repeated

This wasn’t the time or place he would have chosen, Bruce thought, but it seemed to be a night for secrets to be laid bare.  Tony was wrong though, the night was about to get stranger. He drained his glass and took a deep breath

“There’s something I need to tell you about Sara.”

###

Clint abandoned the car a few blocks away from Port Authority and made his way to the bus station via the back routes he knew would keep him away from the security cameras.  Tony would be able to track the red Dodge Charger easily using Jarvis, best to lose it quick as possible.  It felt like a wrench, but maybe he hadn’t had it for years.  It might just be part of the package they created for the ’new improved Barton’ when they ripped his memory away from him.  He couldn’t avoid all the cameras in the bus station but there was no shortage of medium height guys in nondescript hoodies and baseball caps around.  The trick was to take a random bus then change two or three times.  Took longer that way, but worth the effort.

He curled up on the back seat of the bus heading west from Newark, staring through the rain-streaked window at the passing lights of cars and trucks.  His whole body shivered and sweated, from the shock as much as from the energy drinks and caffeine tablets he’d swallowed to stay awake.  He couldn’t sleep, not now and not for a while.  He had names to put to the faces now, he knew they were his wife and children but thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D. he’d got nothing but their deaths. Cooper, his son, drowning in his own blood in the hallway, Laura screaming and beating at him with her fists as he cut and sliced; and Lila, his baby girl…

He was crying again, biting down onto the brim of his cap to try and quell the sound of his sobs.  The seats around him were all empty, despite the bus being busy.  No-one wanted to sit to near the weeping junkie at the back.

###

“Well, are we venturing any further into the Twilight Zone or is that it for the night?” Tony poured himself another drink.  Given everything that had happened so far, the news that Sara was possibly a telepath and might also have enhanced empathic abilities didn’t feel that strange.

“Does she know?” asked Steve, still trying to process this new information.  It sounded fantastic, but Bruce was the least fanciful person he knew and everyone’s view of what was possible had become a little flexible over the past year.  Bruce shook his head

“I’ve not told her yet, and now might not be a good time…”  he paused “S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t know either.  Natasha and I ‘massaged’ the results from the tests Fury asked for.”

“That won’t fool him for long” Tony said “Fury’s got a nose for these things and he’ll find out one way or another.”

“Then it’s up to us to protect her” Steve put down his glass and stood up “We keep her safe and off that damned Index.  It’s the one thing we can do for Clint right now.  I’m going to call Natasha…”

###

“I can’t believe you’re still standing by him!” Beth really didn’t want to get angry with her little sister but she could only cope with so much, and being questioned about Sara’s missing boyfriend by one of the most notorious and dangerous intelligence organisations around was the thin end of the wedge.  “Didn’t they tell you what he’s done…?”

Clint hadn’t called or come home by Monday morning.  Steve waited as long as he could, but by the evening he had no choice and had to make the call to Fury.  The Director was ‘unavailable’ so it was his deputy, a dark-haired woman called Maria Hill, who dealt with them.  At least she’d had the grace to appear embarrassed and ashamed by what S.H.I.E.L.D. had done, sympathetic in her questioning of Sara.  To do Agent Hill credit, she was eager to give Clint every chance and delayed the process as long as she could, but by the end of the week an Agent Call and Respond message was sent out across S.H.I.E.L.D. communication frequencies.

Steve explained this meant Clint had 48 hours to report in to the nearest Field Office or be marked as a rogue agent. 

That news had almost broken what little self-control Sara had left.  These people had torn the man she loved apart and now they were going to hunt him like some wild animal?  God knows what they would do to Clint if they caught him, or even if he would let himself be taken alive after what they’d already put him through.

Beth had been taken in for questioning just the day after, and it sounded like the agents who spoke to her hadn’t been as sympathetic or understanding as Agent Hill.

“He’s a killer, Sara, a paid assassin.  Six warrants from the FBI and eight international arrest warrants, just for the ones they know about…” Beth was almost pleading, desperate to make her sister understand the seriousness of her situation “These people were only protecting him because he agreed to do the killings they wanted, now he’s out there and he’s dangerous!”

“That’s not…” Sara sat hunched in the corner of the couch in Beth’s living room, arms wrapped around her knees; trying to make herself as small as possible.  “It’s not what he’s like…”

“Oh really?” A harsh, frightened edge crept into Beth’s voice “What about that family in West Virginia, before he met you, his family?  He cut them to pieces. The man’s a monster, they say he’s criminally insane.  How you can even bear to hear his name…”

The worst thing was Clint had done all these things, and more, when he’d been the hitman known as Ronin.  She’d almost passed out, reading that name in the file Maria showed her, remembering the cold-eyed dream lover who made her skin shiver.  Was she going insane as well?  Trying to defend him to Beth just made her sound like one of these sad women who sent love-letters to serial killers.

Beth sat down on the couch and put her hand on her sister’s arm.  Sara looked miserable and defeated; nothing like the laughing, vivacious young woman she’d been a few days ago.  It was clear how much she loved that monster, and how carefully he’d entrapped her sweet, trusting little Sara.

“I’m not stupid” she said to her, gently “I’ve figured out who Steve Rogers is, and it’s not too big a leap to work out who Clint has to be; maybe he was a good man once, but something a long time ago drove him over the edge.  I think a very seductive, ruthless, insane, man has dragged you into what you think is a glamourous secret world and you don’t want to let it go.  It’s dangerous, Sara. People like us don’t belong there…”

“They did things to him, Beth” Sara replied quietly “He’s scared and he needs me…”

“He doesn’t! None of them do!” It was difficult to keep the anger and frustration from creeping back, it was easy to forget how stubborn Sara could be when she had her mind set on something “Come home, Little Sara, forget about all of this.”

Sara shook her head

“I can’t Beth, I’m really sorry but I can’t; not after everything that’s happened” She stood and picked up her coat “I have to get back…”

“To Tony and Pepper?” There was no disguising the sharpness now “They’re not your parents, Sara.”

“No…” said Sara sadly, pausing at the door; thinking of Tony’s deep generosity and Pepper’s open, compassionate, warmth “No, they’re not.”

_Damn!_

That comment about parents had been a big mistake, Beth thought as she poured herself a glass of wine.  The whole conversation had been a colossal fuckup, she hadn’t wanted the evening to go this way at all.  Pushing Sara in this state was a stupid thing to do; making her cling harder to this fantasy of the wronged tough-guy with a heart of gold.  She wasn’t ready to see the monster yet, unwilling to acknowledge how completely she’d been taken in by a lop-sided grin and a few soft words.

Dr Corben had explained it all to her, how men like Barton preyed on naïve, vulnerable, young women; sucking them in with tales of hard luck and bad choices until they were totally hooked.  A kind-hearted girl like Sara, wanting to see only the best in everyone, was an easy target, and the humiliating truth too painful to accept just now. 

Beth sat down on the couch and tucked her feet up under her.  Tiger strolled across the back of the couch and draped himself across her shoulders, purring softly.  Beth laughed despite herself, live fur was the only ethical choice.  She should let Sara have her space for a few weeks, stop pushing.  She’d soon run out of tears for the grey-eyed assassin and be ready to listen to reason.

_Since when did someone in love ever listen to reason?_

Beth took another sip of wine to dull that treacherous little voice inside and rubbed her cheek against Tiger’s broad flat ginger head. 

“Never fall in love, Tiger” she advised him “It’s a fool’s game.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Time Doesn't Heal All Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is passing, but S.H.I.E.L.D.’s pursuit of its rogue assassin remains relentless.  
> Alone in the wilderness, Clint struggles with his demons while evading the men sent after him. Back in New York, Sara tries to build a life again; supported by her friends but still consumed with longing for her missing lover.  
> Director Fury set one of his most trusted men an ambiguous task while in the silence of the night, the man called Ronin turns to Sara for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes  
> Strong language and consensual sex.  
> Reviews and comments welcome

Had Laura been like Sara?  Kind, happy, always laughing; knowing instinctively when he needed a pair of comforting arms around him?  Last thing he remembered of Sara was her crying, reaching out for him as he shrank away from her; consumed by guilt and horror at what he’d done.  Clint lay on top of the bed, trying to fight his way out of the maze of false memories S.H.I.E.L.D. built around him when they tore the memory of his family away.

There must’ve been something special about Laura.  He was still Ronin when they met, cold and ruthless, killing for the highest bidder; no matter who or where.  Somehow, she’d touched the heart of the beast; waking up human feelings he thought had been burned out of him by two decades of abuse and violence. 

He sat up and swung his legs off the bed, shoving his feet into his boots.  They’d had a home, he’d had a home, a nice one too. Kind of a Grandma Moses rural fantasy; did he want that, or was it her? Had they talked about raising a family and found somewhere remote and safe where they could do it? 

_Not remote or safe enough…_

Tasha could maybe have told him some of that if he’d stayed, and if he still trusted her enough to tell him the truth.  She should’ve told him the moment she saw what they done to him, no matter what Fury said to her.  She’d been his friend, his only friend.  With Phil dead, he needed her more than ever at that point. Steve, Tony, Bruce; they’d never known the real Clint, wouldn’t see what was missing, what was different, but she did and she lied to him.

Coulson would never have let Fury do this to him. Why’d they have to take them away from him like that? So what if he went crazy or stuck a gun in his mouth? That was his right and they denied it him. 

He could stick a gun in his mouth right now, decorate the wall of the cabin with his brains; that’d be a nice surprise for the owners when they turned up for hunting season.  Maybe he would, if he didn’t still have so many questions…

_Was I a good dad?_

Clint finished lacing his boots and stood up.  They’d looked happy in the photograph, but people always smiled at birthdays.  Had things been different when it was just the four of them alone at the house?  He’d tried again and again to push against whatever they did to him and remember who he’d really been, but the barrier remained solid.  S.H.I.E.L.D. taken every memory of his family except their deaths.  Had he been like his own dad, a violent drunk using belt and fists?  Phil and Tasha would have noticed that surely?  But people had funny blind spots when it came to that sort of thing, tell themselves all sorts of comforting lies to avoid an ugly truth.

He never would’ve hit Sara, not ever, never even say a cruel word to her; but that was the Clint S.H.I.E.L.D. made when they did whatever was done to him.  He’d no way of knowing what the real Clint Barton had been like.  Was that why Tasha didn’t tell him; perhaps the new one was an improvement?  Maybe it had all been a lie he told himself and deep down he was still Ronin, brutal and pitiless.

Sara had slipped a photo of herself into his bow-case, must’ve been meant as a surprise.  Something for him to find next time he was on a mission, a reminder that she loved him and was waiting for his safe return.  He took it out of his shirt pocket.  Sitting under a tree in a strapless white linen summer dress; pushing her hair back from her face and laughing at one of his stupid jokes

He’d taken it on their second date; ice cream and a carriage ride round the park.  It was the first time he kissed her properly, there in the autumn sunshine; feeling the way she responded and realising she wanted him as much as he did her. Looking at her made his heart ache; he wanted to hold her so much, to have the taste and smell of her again.  She was so lovely; how could he ever think he deserved a girl like her?  Beth was right, he was no good for Sara.  Better to stay away and hope she could move on to someone who didn’t trail death in his shadow.

His head snapped round at the noise outside.  He stuck the photo back in his pocket and jumped to his feet, grabbing the roofbeam and swinging himself up and round into his vantage point.  Folks always kept their eyes on the windows and doors, never thought about the gaps left by missing shingles.  He could see the agent in S.H.I.E.L.D. camo gear about 300 feet from the cabin, flitting through the undergrowth.  Guaranteed there’d be at least one more coming up on the far side.

Motherfuckers!  He’d sent them a nice polite note last time. Need to be a bit clearer with this one.  He knocked an arrow in his bow, aiming carefully through the narrow slot in the roof.  Let’s see if this got the message across.

Shame, he’d hoped to get a few more days out of this nest. 

###

“Can I come in?” Natasha asked, standing in the hallway with a bottle of wine in her hand.

“Sorry… of course!  Please do…” Sara stepped aside to let her enter, still holding tightly to Lucky’s collar as he barked in excitement. “Sitting room’s through there”

She hadn’t seen Natasha much over the past four months.  S.H.I.E.L.D. business had largely kept her away from the Avengers and the penthouse, something that may have been deliberate on Fury’s part.

After that first month of grieving and crying, hoping every day to hear the familiar tread of Clint’s boots on the stairs, Sara had started to pick herself up from the floor and rebuild a life.  She took up Tony’s suggestion of working as a freelance ‘Personal Art Consultant’; of course her first, and most reliable, client was Stark Global Industries, and with Pepper and Steve at her side started venturing into the world again.

It hadn’t all been plain sailing; S.H.I.E.L.D.’s surveillance of her was persistent and noticeable.  At first, they couldn’t even be bothered to hide the dark-suited men and women who shadowed her every move outside Stark Tower.  They’d become more discreet after Steve belligerently challenged two of them in a crowded shopping mall, loudly accusing them of ‘stalking his little sister’.  It was still ever-present though, and a constant reminder that somewhere out there Clint was being hunted by the people who’d once been his colleagues.

Sara might be rebuilding her life, but that didn’t mean forgetting Clint or letting go of the love and yearning she had for him.  His absence was an enduring pain; she missed his laugh, the sound of his singing, the way he liked to snuggle up to her on the couch when he was tired but didn’t want to go to bed yet.  The man who played his guitar for her in the evenings and made silly paper hats for his dog wasn’t a cold-hearted killer; she could feel that deep inside, no matter what S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to make her believe.

She’d read what they’d shown her of the files on Ronin and she’d felt like asking ‘If he was really that bad why did you want to employ him?’.  They had a couple of photographs as well; the same close-cropped hair and fuller face that made him look almost boyish except for the hard eyes.  The face she remembered from her dreams.

Finding out that Ronin was, or had been, real, not just her dream-image of a seductive, predatory Clint, made what Bruce had to tell her a bit easier to believe.  Mad as it sounded, it also made a weird sense when she remembered all those times of having odd thoughts which didn’t feel like her own or when she answered a question she couldn’t recall having been asked.  Bruce didn’t seem to understand the mechanics much; if he did, she couldn’t understand his explanations.  He’d get as far as ‘synchronous thinking’ which sort of made sense, then start launching into ‘Bose-Einstein Condensates’ and ‘consciousness as a non-local quantum phenomenon’ which just made her want a drink. 

He’d taught her a variety of mind-games though, to explore and experiment with what she could do, and those had proved very useful in starting to come to terms with the abilities stirring inside her.  It looked like Beth had been wrong, she did belong to this twilight world after all.

Moving into the new apartment last week had been the next big step.  The penthouse was massive but she couldn’t help feeling that with Clint gone she was somehow imposing on Tony’s hospitality despite his vigorous, genuine, denials.  It also reminded her too much of Clint, making the hurt of his absence even sharper.  Tony, of course, had stepped in with his usual casual generosity.  She couldn’t work out quite how she was ‘doing him a favour’ by occupying his former crash-pad in SoHo but he insisted that she was, and one look at the bathroom alone quickly dispelled her qualms.  He also made the serious point that the corner apartment had security and privacy facilities which she wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else and this was part of his pledge to look after her on Clint’s behalf.  Questions of rent had been blithely dismissed with vague comments about ‘figuring it into her commission.’

Natasha walked through to the living room with Lucky prancing beside her, sniffing at her pockets for the treat he knew had to be in there.  She put the wine down on the coffee table and pulled out a small chrome cylinder which she set beside it.  A blue light began flashing on the top

“White noise generator” she explained to Sara “Just in case anyone is managing to slip past Tony’s privacy settings. Think of it as a housewarming present”

“Thank you, you bring the sweetest gifts” laughed Sara, fetching two glasses from the sideboard.  She’d missed Natasha.  The two women had little in common, but the love they both felt for Clint in their different ways had proved a strong bond.  Like Steve, Sara couldn’t blame Natasha for what had happened.  She’d been acting under orders, after the fact, and as Sara’s abilities matured she could recognize the grief Natasha felt for Clint and his family.  Despite little outward display the ordeal had been a terrible one for her.

Lucky yipped happily as Natasha brought a packet of dog chocolates from her other pocket.  Sara poured them both a glass of wine then sat down beside her.

“Any news about Clint?” Neither of them felt the need to waste too much time on casual pleasantries, Natasha shook her head.

“I’m out of the loop on that one.  Fury’s probably afraid I’ll interfere.  I did hear the one agent who got close was found trussed up in his car with two dislocated shoulders, a broken wrist and a note pinned to his chest that just said ‘Leave me alone’,”

“I wish they would…”  Sara gazed sadly down into her glass “He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, he’s only trying to deal with what’s happening in his head.”

Natasha gave the young woman a questioning glance

“I can’t ‘hear’ him” Sara told her “he must be too far away, it’s what just what I feel though…”

“Have you tried to locate him?” Natasha asked, the extent and nature of Sara’s ability was still something of a mystery to them; and to Sara as well.  The girl was cautiously feeling her way into the new world of perception opening to her.  Bruce had deliberately, and wisely, refrained from the more intensive experiments; allowing her to develop naturally. 

“Like one of those TV psychics claiming to find missing persons?” Sara laughed “If it worked like that I’d be with him right now… wherever he is…” Her voice tailed off and she went quiet for a while, patting Lucky’s back as he devoured the treats Natasha brought

“I could almost cope with the thought he might be dead.  It’s when I lie awake at night wondering if he’s sick, or injured, and alone with no-one to help him…” Sara could feel the tears in her eyes again and she took the other woman’s hand “I miss him so much, Natasha; and I’m so afraid for him…”

Natasha set her glass down on the table and put her arms around Sara, a rare gesture of physical affection, holding her until the tears stopped

“I know _lyubimaya_ Sara…” she whispered to her “I miss him too”

The last time she saw Clint, that terrible night, he’d looked at her with an expression of such hurt and betrayal Natasha wondered if that was the thing that finally broke his brave spirit and sent him running into the dark.  Even if he could, or would, come back; she might have lost her closest friend forever.

“Sometimes I ask myself if Beth’s right” Sara sat back wiping her eyes “and I’m just a stupid little girl obsessing over a fantasy.”

“No, never think that, like me you see the real Clint…” Natasha topped up their glasses “you know how much he needs, and deserves, to be loved.”

The two women sat and talked, Natasha telling Sara more about the Clint she’d known; the loving, gentle husband and father who’d been trying to make amends for the life he’d lived before, trying to prove he had more to offer the world than dealing out death on demand.

“…and S.H.I.E.L.D. took all that away from him” Sara’s voice was quiet and subdued “Sometimes it frightens me how much I hate them.”

“Nick made a bad call for all the right reasons” Natasha said “now he has to live with that for the rest of his life, we all do.”

“I don’t hate him, he made a dreadful mistake when everything was already falling apart” Sara told her “It’s what he stands for that terrifies me, all of S.H.I.E.L.D.s lies and manipulations; it’s like they’re confusing protection with control.”

“Some people find it had to tell the difference” Natasha admitted “Fortunately there are still some who know where the line lies.”

She felt her phone vibrate.  She checked the message and smiled

“Speaking of which, Steve and the others are on their way to throw you a proper housewarming; and he’s bringing a surprise.  No spoilers, but you might want to order in plenty of beer…”

###

“If you’re looking for my opinion, sir, we might want to consider doing what he asks…”

Garrett handed the crumpled, stained, piece of paper back to Fury. The note was just five words long

_I said LEAVE ME ALONE_

“Frayne, Trant and Shapiro will be in hospital for weeks,” the Director reminded him “and Trant will always have a limp.”

“That’s kinda my point, Director.” said Garrett with a faint smile “Would’ve been easier and safer for him to take all three out, he chose not to.  Next team you send after him might not get such a friendly warning.”

“’Leaving alone’ isn’t an option for rogue agents” Fury got up from his desk and walked over to the windows “especially when the agent in question is a specialist with Barton’s skills and history.  Agents Hand and Gonzales are pressing for a STRIKE team to be put on the case.”

“Why not another specialist? Oh wait…” Garrett didn’t even pretend to hide his sarcasm “Romanoff can’t be relied on to bring her old friend down and calling in Ward would involve Coulson and some awkward questions you can’t afford to answer.  You’re kinda low on options, sir.”

“Thank you for your opinion” Fury’s voice was sharp, only Garrett had the balls to call him out this directly.  Sometimes he appreciated that candour, but not today “I trust you can take the appropriate action?”

“To be clear sir” Garrett couldn’t resist “Do you want us to find Barton, or just make it seem like we’re looking for him?”

“You have your orders, Agent Garrett” the Director retorted “That will be all”

“So, they sending us after Barton?” Trip asked they drove away from the Triskelion “’Cause somehow that don’t sit right with me.”

There were plenty of agents eager for the glory of being the one to take down Hawkeye, Antoine Triplett wasn’t one of them.  Something about the whole scenario smelled real bad.  His SO didn’t look like he was too happy with the idea either

“Me neither, son.” Garrett replied “Tell me, we saw that guy three days before he went off grid.  He look like a man about to go rogue to you?”

“With a sweet piece like Miss Wolfe wrapped around him like that?” Trip grinned “Hell no, sir!”

“So, what makes a guy like Barton abandon the girl he loves, his friends and the Agency; knowing what that means, and head off into the wild?” Garrett made the turning towards the freeway that would lead them to New York “I’d kinda like to find that out before we do anything else.”

###

The ‘surprise’ had been Thor.  The Asgardian had returned to New York a few days ago, his exuberance at re-uniting with his friends turning to horrified dismay and disbelief when he heard about the crimes perpetrated against Clint.  He’d asked to be presented to the lady whose life had also been blighted by Loki’s sadistic ‘jest’, in order to make some sort of amends. 

It was a strange reversal, she should have been the one consumed with nerves at the thought of meeting a lightning-wielding warrior-prince from another world; instead the blond demi-god, who loomed over her by a foot, was almost apprehensive as he shyly offered apologies for failing to prevent his brother’s actions and pledged his life-long protection as part of the ‘blood-debt’ he owed to her and Clint.  Everything about him radiated a simple honesty and genuine regret, and her affectionate embrace was gratefully received.

It had been a pleasant evening; entertaining her friends in ‘her’ apartment for the first time.  A reminder that although no longer in the penthouse she was still an intimate part of all their lives.  Tony and Pepper had insisted she join them all for dinner on Saturday and, somehow, she’d found herself agreeing to take Thor on a sightseeing tour.  He was particularly eager to see ‘this Island of Coneys that Tony has told me about.’

Sara smiled at her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair before bed, but the sadness was there in her eyes.  Pleasant evenings were the most she had, maybe all she had to look forward to.  Four months didn’t make his absence easier to bear.  He should be here, wandering around in his shorts; singing to himself in that raw, clear, beautiful voice as he made his own preparations for bed.  Preparations that would inevitably end with his warm, strong hands on her shoulders as he nuzzled her neck with his lips; whispering lewd, enticing suggestions.

She sighed and lay down her hairbrush, looking at the photograph sitting on the dressing table.  Clint in the park with his arms around Lucky, impossible to tell who had the soppier grin.

“Stay safe, Love” she murmured “Sleep well…”             

###

“Lonely Sara…” he didn’t look up, just held his hand out to her “You know what they did to him now?”

Sara took Ronin’s hand, just as warm as Clint’s but fewer calluses.  The long scar on his thumb was there though.

“I know what they took from you, but I don’t know how” She stroked his close-cropped hair as he rested his head against her hip “Clint…”

He pulled his head away from her touch

“Not my name” he mumbled with a hint of aggression “They took that away when they took them.  Just lonely Ronin sitting in the dust where he died.”

She drew his head back to her

“It is your name” she insisted “This is just what they turned you into.”

He looked up at her, wrapping his arms about her waist, and she saw the hollow grief behind those cold, grey eyes

“I can’t find ‘em, Lovely Sara. I know where they are but I can’t go there” he dropped his gaze “Stuck here in the hot dust, hoping you come to take the hurt away.”

Ronin held her closer and she felt his hands starting to pull at her clothes

“Stop it hurting?” he asked, his voice thickening with need “Just for a little while?”

Sara stepped back slightly; Ronin’s shifts of mood, from deep sadness through to intense, hungry lust, were arbitrary and unsettling.

“You want me to beg?” He moved swiftly onto his knees, suddenly roguish and playful “Show you what a good boy Ronin is?”

He barked and snapped his teeth at her, shaking his head with a soft growl.  Sara laughed, surprised by this unexpected light-heartedness, and scratched him behind the ears the way she would for Lucky

“Mmmmm, Ronin’s a good dog” he murmured.  Pulling her nearer he began to slide the light cotton of her skirt up her thighs, brushing his lips along the smooth, pale skin and flicking lightly with his tongue “Mistress Sara got a treat for him?”

Sara let out a low soft cry as Ronin’s tongue found what it was searching for and he leaned back, drawing her down to the ground with him as he quenched his burning thirst. The way he used his mouth and fingertips sent shivers of electricity through her skin; as intense and arousing as the very first time.

“Ronin needs you, Lovely Sara” he spoke gently as he slid a second, spit-slick, finger into her, using his thumb to make her shudder and gasp “Tell me you need your lonely Ronin.”

“I need you Ronin” she moaned, almost sobbing with the ferocity of the pleasure he was giving her “I need you more than I could ever have imagined.”

He was on top of her; sliding into her with a firm, confident thrust that made her cry out and clutch at his broad shoulders.  His breath hot on her neck as he grazed the skin with his sharp teeth.

“Ronin needs you, baby” he growled, as she hooked her legs around his hips, raking at his back with her fingernails. “Find ‘em for me… find what they stole…”

“Teach me how…” she bit at his chin, drawing a little blood.  He snarled at her with angry desire “Show your secrets”

“Ronin’s full… of secrets…” he grunted as he ripped at her blouse, burying his face between her breasts “He’ll show you… when it’s time…”

Sara’s hunger was as intense as his.  Ronin or Clint, she didn’t care; she needed this man with an urgency and heat that possessed her entirely.  Grabbing his shoulders, she rolled him onto his back, riding him with force and fire. 

“Show me…” she demanded, her voice hoarse and low as she felt the gathering heat in her belly “Show me, and I’ll take the hurt away.”

“Sara….” he cried out, consumed by the surge of his own climax “Sara… love me?”

Sara collapsed on top of him, breathless and fulfilled; her hair falling across him face

“I love you…” she murmured in his ear “and I’ll heal you both…”

###

Tony flexed his fingers carefully, enjoying the smooth purr of the servos; the new gauntlet was almost perfect.  The Mark VIII was coming together very nicely; if only Pepper and Bruce would let him include a mini bar…

His phone started to ring; Tony picked it up and took a deep breath.  Only one ‘withheld number’ ever called his personal cellphone in the small hours of the morning.

“Pigeon!” he forced a bright cheerfulness into his voice “Still flying free?”

 

 

 

 


	12. When the Mighty Fall Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year has passed since the events of the last chapter  
> As hostile forces gather strength behind the scenes and S.H.I.E.L.D. moves towards the brink of collapse, four very different people begin journeys that will bring them together in an unlikely and difficult alliance.  
> On Tony’s advice, Sara flees New York for a remote haven in the wake of Nick Fury’s assassination.  
> Clint Barton, still rogue and on the run, barely clinging to what’s left of his sanity; prepares to make another move as he tries to keep ahead of S.H.I.E.L.D.  
> Beth attempts to deal with her conflicted feelings about her sister and decides to take some time out for herself, unaware that she’s heading towards a trap.  
> As the Helicarriers crash and the Triskelion burns, a dangerous new player enters the game.  
> Part One of Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes  
> Some violence  
> Reviews and comments welcome

“Fury’s dead…”

Two words can really change your afternoon, Sara thought as she drank her second coffee and watched from the window of the roadside diner.  She’d been following Tony’s advice and stopping off every couple of hours, just to make sure there was no obvious pursuit.  He’d called her with the news around lunchtime, she’d just got back from taking Lucky for a walk and still had her jacket on.  Her first thought had been the obvious one, that Clint had finally come out of hiding and done something stupid

Tony didn’t think so; according to the brief message he’d received from Natasha there was a new player on the field and she’d sounded as close to scared as he’d ever heard.  Maria Hill was missing, while Natasha and Steve were being hunted by S.H.I.E.L.D.  Something big and disturbing was happening and Tony wasn’t prepared to take any chances.  He’d already sent Bruce off to one of his personal safe-houses and gave her the location and access codes for another.

“Get out of town until we know what’s going on” he instructed her “And don’t trust anyone!”

Sara was afraid.  The last few months had been almost normal, as normal as possible when your lover was a rogue assassin on the run from a lethal international intelligence organisation and your closest friends were Avengers.  They’d kept their promises, standing by her and supporting her as she lived her life without Clint, becoming as close to her as family.  Closer perhaps, she’d not spoken much to Beth over the past year or more.  Despite both their best efforts the two sisters couldn’t speak for long without arguing and the argument was always the same. 

She could see Beth’s point, that was the problem.  Clint had been gone for almost a year and a half now.  If he was still alive he probably wasn’t going to be coming home any time soon.  Any sensible woman would have moved on, laid that ghost to rest, and found someone else to take his place.

Sara didn’t want to be sensible, however; and there wasn’t anyone who could take Clint’s place, nor did she want there to be.  Natasha had told her what little she knew about his early life, the painful history of abuse, betrayal and brutal violence that had turned him into the heartless killer known as Ronin.  Except Ronin hadn’t been heartless, and if Clint ever did return she wanted him to know there was at least one person who loved him enough to never betray or abandon him. 

That was her tragedy.  Beth’s was that no-one had ever loved her enough to awaken that same response.

“You want some biscuits for your dog?” the waitress asked as she topped up Sara’s coffee “We got plenty…”

“Thanks…” answered Sara, with a smile “That’s very kind”

She’d give it another 20 minutes to be sure then hit the road again. 

Sara arrived there just before 2am.  As she expected, the well-hidden modern one-storey house was equipped for comfort as much as security.  She’d picked up milk and a few perishables at an all-night service station on the way, but apart from that there was everything she might need for a long stay.  After making tea, she called Tony to let him know she’d arrived safely then went for a shower as Lucky ran around, happily exploring all the new smells to be found.  He was excited, Mistress had never taken him on an Adventure before.

Tony put the phone down with a sigh of relief.  Bruce was well off-grid, Pepper had insisted on staying, reminding him that he still needed her to run the business; Thor was in Norway with Jane and Darcy and he’d told them to stay put.  It was safer for the women and he wasn’t sure how much assistance Goldilocks was likely to provide right now.  As for Steve and Natasha?  He’d heard nothing of them since her phone-call this morning.  S.H.I.E.L.D.’s firewall was proving impenetrable to Jarvis and none of his usual sources of information were talking. 

Being in the dark was alien to him, making him edgy and irritable.  Whatever was happening wasn’t going to end in hugs and puppies, you didn’t need to be a telepath or an empath to know that. At least if he stayed in the Lab he could keep his mind occupied and wouldn’t be tempted to begin a one-sided conversation with Mr Jack Daniels. 

He glanced down at his phone, hoping for a ‘number withheld’ to call

_Pigeon, you’d better fucking call in soon!_

###

It was one of those nights when doing nothing still made you sweat.  Clint sat staring at the images on the TV screen with the sound turned down.  You couldn’t really say he was watching it, but it gave his eyes something to do.  He’d become a nocturnal animal again; sleeping during the day when the dreams didn’t seem to be quite so bad.  Night was when he took to the desert hills, racing over the rocks to keep his body moving and his mind numb, except for nights like this when all you could do was sit and stew in your own juice.

He’d spent a lot of time in deserts as Ronin, felt at home there.  Better than the woods for hiding out, you could see for miles and the few folks around these parts kept well enough away.  People only came here if they had a reason to be this far away from everyone or everything.  Including his last phone call to Tony he’d said maybe 20 words in the past six weeks, his voice hoarse and cracked from disuse.  Didn’t bother him none, not much reason to make conversation and even less to sing. 

Couldn’t remember when he’d last sung.  Would’ve been to Sara, so well over a year ago; he’d been writing a song specially for her, the notes for it stuffed into his guitar case wherever that was now.  Tony said his apartment was still there for him, so it was probably gathering dust in the Penthouse.

The bottled water had become tepid, he got up to get a fresh one from the refrigerator, pausing to look at himself in the mirror.  The night-time runs had honed almost all the spare fat off him, not that there was much to begin with, leaving little more than bone and lean, hard, muscle.  The kinda guy that looked scrawny at first glance, until you looked closer and saw this was a body designed to fight and kill; saw the cold, crazy, eyes and knew the man behind them had nothing left to lose. 

He took a long drink of the water and poured the rest over his head and shoulders.  It was time to move on, stay in one place too long you got comfortable and comfortable meant sloppy.  He’d seen no trace of pursuit for a while.  That meant S.H.I.E.L.D. was waiting for him to make a mistake.  They’d put Garrett on his case, according to Tony, and he was sly; not the guns and glory type who’d risk his men recklessly to make the big capture.  It was good news in a way.  If it came down to it, Garrett would do him the favour of a quick, clean kill.  Easier for everyone.

Clint pulled a t-shirt on, feeling it stick to his back and sides immediately.  If he started packing up now, he could be on the road and miles from here by sun-up, catch a few hours’ sleep in an anonymous motel and plan his next move; Mexico maybe, or further south?  Really lose himself.

_No. Stay close. Just in case._

He shook his head angrily, trying to dislodge the thought.  He hated that quiet dark voice.  It kept him going around in loops, running out of space and options.  Only a few stiff drinks ever shut it up, but go too far down that route and he might as well save himself a lot of time and money and put a bullet in his head on Garrett’s behalf.

###

“Perhaps Sara can’t let go because you won’t…”

Dr Corben was never usually this forthright and Beth’s face registered her surprise.  Therapy had clearly come to an impasse if he was actually expressing an opinion.

“It seems to me that Sara is still very much in love with this man, or at least the idea of him.” Her analyst continued “and you bringing him up, or raising the subject of dating or relationships, is simply reinforcing her determination to stay faithful to this idea.”

The doctor set down his notepad and smiled at her

“Honestly, Beth; recently it feels like I’m spending more time discussing Sara’s issues than yours.  Perhaps I should start billing her instead?”

“If you did, I’ve no doubt that Stark would pick up the tab” grumbled Beth, realising as she said it how mean and petty she sounded.

She hadn’t meant for that last time she had coffee with Sara to turn into another argument, but the question ‘are you seeing anyone?’ had just slipped out.  It was one of those things you automatically ask someone if you’ve been out of touch for a while but, of course, it had started the whole process all over again; pitting her angry concern against Sara’s tearful defensiveness.  Beth didn’t want it to be another three months before they spoke again.

“Are you concerned for your sister, or resentful of her?” asked Dr Corben.  Beth was finding this new bluntness refreshing, it might actually do more good than the familiar self-affirming fluff.  Okay, maybe she was more than a bit jealous; but she genuinely wanted to be happy that Sara was making a life for herself.  Aided by Stark’s patronage, her business was doing very well; even being featured in the Lifestyle pages a few weeks ago, she had friends who seemed to love and care for her and Tony Stark had taken her under his wing as some kind of surrogate daughter. 

Yes, if she was honest, it hurt that Sara found herself surrounded by so much love; even that bastard Barton loved her in whatever dysfunctional way he understood the concept.  Tony and Pepper clearly adored her and Steve Rogers had lovesick puppy eyes whenever he was around her, no matter how much he tried to hide it.  It just didn’t seem fair that her little sister could love and be loved so much when she seemed cursed by the same sterile coldness that infected Mom and Dad; and yet it wasn’t fair for her to be punishing Sara because of it.

Beth grabbed a handful of tissues and wiped her eyes.  Dr Corben continued to make quiet, encouraging, noises as she discussed the ‘edited’ version of her sister’s life and her mixed feelings about it.  What she couldn’t tell him was her fear of the danger these people posed to her Little Sara.  This morning the office had been buzzing with rumours about yesterday’s ‘gang-related’ shootings in Washington, and there were disturbing whispers from reliable sources that there was a manhunt underway for Captain America.  She couldn’t stop the feeling that something serious was happening, or quell her fear that Sara might get dragged into it.

“You need some time out, a little more space for yourself.” Corben advised “Perhaps you should get out of town for a few days; clear your head a bit and regain some perspective?”

Beth nodded, blowing her nose, that sounded like a very good idea.  She had some days due to her anyway.

“I can always get Tom and Jared to cat-sit” she laughed “I’ve not been up to the cottage since March and it could probably do with an airing by now.”

“There we go then!” Corben smiled broadly and picked up his appointment book. “And next time we speak I’d like to hear much more about you than I have been recently.”

Dr Corben’s next appointment wasn’t for another hour.  Once Beth had left he picked up the phone.

“Corben here…  As we suspected, some latency but not enough potential for our purposes… The younger sister? Definitely promising…  Yes, I recommend termination, no loose ends… She’ll be out of town soon, more discreet that way… I’ll send you the details… Hail Hydra!”

###

The man was still breathing but unconscious.  His pulse was strong, despite the wounds and the fall.  He would live.  The Winter Soldier stood, not knowing why he’d saved this man he was supposed to eliminate.  Some compulsion he could not understand had cracked the shell of compliance and that crack remained; letting in unfamiliar thoughts, and feelings he was incapable of articulating.

He turned and walked slowly away, oblivious to the sounds of the crashing helicarriers or the collapse of the great triple-towered building across the river.  There was a place he had to be and he knew what he was going to do there.

The guard at the door was expecting him, but not the fingers around his throat crushing windpipe and spinal column while the other hand seized his gun from its holster.  The other was too slow to react and scarcely had his own weapon raised before his head was blown apart.  There was only one other guard inside.  He’d expected more but perhaps those were assigned elsewhere.  These men were little more than foot-soldiers, easily disposed of.  He rolled behind cover as the other man emptied his magazine.  Before he’d finished reloading the Winter Soldier had vaulted over the upturned desk and snapped his neck. 

The scientists were no challenge at all.  One tried to come at him with a hypodermic, full of the sedatives they used to control the beast.  He swatted him aside with a single blow, sending him crashing into a concrete pillar.  The other tried to beg for mercy, soiled himself, kicking and struggling as the life was choked out of him.  He remembered the pain these two pasty faced men had inflicted on him and it felt good to finish them with his bare hands.  The Chair sat in the corner, how many times had he been strapped in there while the electricity burned through him?

_Not any more_

They kept weapons here.  There would be grenades; those should be sufficient.  As he cast his eyes around he saw the row of computers on the far side of the room.  The files, he should take them, they might be important.  One of the dead scientists had a data stick in his pocket and it took no effort to remember the keystrokes of the password.  He’d been their pet killer for so long, no effort had been made to conceal such things from his trained perceptions.  As the stream of data downloaded his attention was caught by a recently received transmission.  The name, or perhaps the photograph, was somehow not unfamiliar.  The idea of a memory rather than the memory itself.

A dark-haired woman; marked for termination as a failed genetic experiment. Someone like him, perhaps? Or something else altogether.  He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to silence the clamour in his head; the different voices yelling for his attention.  As the crack in the Winter Soldier’s shell widened, so the noise inside increased and it was difficult to hold a focus.  He turned his attention back to the woman. 

That is what he would focus on, a self-imposed mission to push back the unruly crowd of thoughts until some order could be imposed.  The woman wasn’t listed as a Winter Soldier target, not high priority, but HYDRA had plenty of regular assassins to use for their daily business.  If she was an experiment, failed or not, he wanted to know.  For that he would have to take out her killers.

The details were fixed in his mind.  Was eidetic memory part of his training and programming or was it one of the reasons he had been chosen? He knew where to find her and what to expect. Having armed himself, he pulled on one of the dead guard’s bomber jacket and gloves to hide the shine of the metal and picked up the grenade belt.  Pulling the pin on one he threw it onto the chair and ran, his enhanced speed taking him well past the range of the explosion.  He could here other, smaller, explosions as the fire took hold and began to consume the place where they’d caged and tortured him.

The Winter Soldier took a deep breath of the clean, afternoon air.  Finding transport would be no problem.  He had a place, a name and the certainty of what he had to do.  That was a start.

To Be Continued…

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. When the Mighty Fall Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the three part “Season Finale”  
> In Tony Stark’s rural haven, with one of his best security consultants to hand, Sara Wolfe should be safe; but in the wake of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s fall no-one is truly safe if HYDRA has them in their sights.  
> Help comes just in time; but can this ruthless, efficient killer be the same Clint that Sara knew? And will their relationship ever be the same as it once was?  
> Another supposed safe haven becomes a possibly fatal trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> A significant amount of violence  
> Reviews and comments welcome

“You bastard!” laughed Sara as Colby blocked her again “Where did you learn to play backgammon like that?”

“Dr Banner” the burly red-headed Texan grinned “He says now you’re not living in the Penthouse he needs an opponent who doesn’t cheat like Tony.”

Sara had liked Colby since the first day she met the former Airborne Ranger, one of Tony’s most trusted security men.  Tony sent him up here three days ago, when the news of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s fall had broken across all channels.  It was smart move, providing extra protection and much needed distraction from the ongoing media circus.  There was still no trace of Steve or Natasha and with all the footage of crashing helicarriers and burning S.H.I.E.L.D. bases she was trying not to think the worst.  It was just a pity Lucky could never take to him.

A sharp, nervous, bark came from the direction of Sara’s bedroom. 

“Oh, be quiet!” Sara called “You know it’s just Colby.”

In the bedroom, Lucky huffed then barked again.  This was his Strangers Nearby bark, not his I Don’t Like You bark.  Couldn’t Mistress tell the difference?

“I’ll fix us something to eat then take him for a w. a. l. k.” Sara said to Colby with a smile “That’ll settle him down for the night.”

“Good idea” Colby looked at his watch.  I’ll just take a quick turn about, to be sure!”

Too much choice, Sara thought as she looked through the kitchen cupboards.  Normally meal planning was something she could be mildly OCD about.  She’d had to be with Clint, his usual idea of a balanced diet was half a dozen protein bars and a gallon of coffee; and that was just breakfast.  She paused and sighed softly.  Maybe with S.H.I.E.L.D. out for the count there was the chance he’d feel safe enough to re-emerge, although from what Tony said the dangers out there now might be even worse

No, she couldn’t be bothered cooking.  Hearing Colby come back in the front door, and Lucky resume his annoyed barking, she walked over to the freezer to see what the instant options were.

“Do you want Hawaiian?” Sara called, looking at the stacks of pizzas “Personally I think fruit on pizza is just wrong but…”

She turned, as he came into the kitchen.  The mind will often resist fully processing what it sees so, for a moment, as he leaned against the doorframe Sara wondered when he’d changed into a red T shirt.  Then she saw the deep gash in his throat and the desperate look in the man’s eyes as he struggled to breathe.  The tall, blond-haired, man in black S.H.I.E.L.D. combat gear grabbed Colby’s hair and smacked his head hard against the edge of the doorway, leaving him crumpled on the floor, unconscious and bleeding out.

“Come with me please, ma’am” his voice was incongruously friendly “It’ll be easier if you don’t fight.”

Sara took a step back as he held out his hand, her eyes fixed on the combat knife in his other.  The blade was clean and bright, with only a slight trace of Colby’s blood on it.  The blond-haired man shook his head with a smile and came towards her.

“Don’t be foolish, Miss Wolfe” he still sounded calm and re-assuring “We’re not here to hurt you.”

She felt the edge of the worktop against her back and groped behind her, hoping there was something she could use to try and defend herself.  Colby’s gun was still in its holster, if she could get to his body, but she wasn’t sure how much help Natasha’s lessons would be when up against a trained S.H.I.E.L.D. commando.  A broad, dark-haired, man also in combat gear appeared in the other doorway.

“Haller, just grab the asset and let’s go” he ordered, harsh and abrasive “We’re on a timetable”

As Haller reached to grab her arm, Sara’s fingers closed around the handle of the coffee-jug.  She swung it round as hard as she could manage, smashing it against the side of his face

“BITCH!” he yelled, blood and hot coffee running down his face, smacking her with the back of his hand.  Sara fell to the floor and tried to scramble towards Colby’s gun despite the ringing in her ears.  She cried out in fear as the other agent grabbed her hair, yanking her head back.  The dark-haired man’s other hand seized her wrist and twisted her arm painfully.

“Get her out of here, Brookes” Haller said, wincing as he pulled a piece of broken glass out of his cheek “before I forget I’m meant to be the good cop.”

He turned his head at the sound of something hitting the patio doors, then threw up his hand to shield his face as the glass shattered explosively sending thousands of tiny fragments flying, through the air.  He felt the sharp, stinging cuts as he fired blindly at the figure that came leaping through.

Clint hit the ground rolling and came up in a low firing stance, shooting twice and hitting Haller in the chest both times, before turning his gun on Brookes who was back on his feet holding a struggling Sara; his own gun held to the young woman’s temple.

“Let her go, and walk” growled Clint. 

“S.H.I.E.L.D.’s gone, Barton” Brookes smirked “Join us, you’d be a better asset than him”

He nodded in the direction of Haller, coughing blood and futilely trying to raise himself off the floor.

“Ain’t gonna happen!” Clint assured him “Just gimme the girl and go…”

Brookes moved his gun from Sara’s head to press it against her shoulder.  Hydra would flay him alive if he killed the first true telepath they’d been able to produce, but a few flesh wounds wouldn’t bother them.

“Drop the gun” he said “or see Miss Wolfe in a great deal of pain”

Clint spread his hands wide and slowly lowered his gun.  Narrowing his eyes slightly he judged the distance between them, the amount of pressure Brookes was already putting on the trigger; estimating how quickly he’d be able to react.  Sara was staring at him with disbelief on her face, almost paralysed by fear.

“Get down and put your hands behind yo…”

Clint leaped forward fast, sending both Brookes and Sara falling back into the hallway, Brookes’s gun discharging wildly into the air.  Brookes pushed the girl off him and kicked at the smaller man’s stomach, creating some space between them.  His gun was out of reach but he pulled his knife, facing off against the former specialist.  Clint had his own knife out, holding it poised and steady; the mark of a real professional.  His left hand was stretched out to the side, twitching slightly.  Nerves or something else?

Brookes was smart, more concerned with getting clear than taking Clint down.  The girl had fight, he’d seen that.  She was still dazed on the floor just now but it was certain she’d try and intervene if she could.  This was a fuck-up, Barton hadn’t been figured into the equation.  Someone was going to pay for this and he hoped it wasn’t going to be him.

Barton came at him fast and low, aiming for a gut strike. Brookes blocked but felt a sudden hot pain in the top of his thigh.  He looked down and saw the balisong knife in Clint’s left hand embedded in his leg.  Like any good fighter, he knew his anatomy; the blade had penetrated his femoral artery.  If it stayed in there he had a chance of not bleeding out before medical assistance arrived.  His eyes met Clint’s; seeing in their cold, impassive, stare that he wasn’t going to get that chance.

Clint pulled the blade down hard, opening up Brookes’s leg to the bone, and the former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent fell back in agony; trying to staunch the blood gushing out.  Clint wiped the knife on the leg of his jeans before flicking it shut and slipping it back up his sleeve.  He calmly picked up Brookes’s gun and shot the man cleanly in the head.  Walking through to the kitchen he did the same favour for the still semi-conscious Haller.

Sara had got back to her feet as he returned to the living room and stared at him, unsure whether she was hallucinating.  He’d lost a lot of weight, the lines of his face clear and sharp under a heavy tan, and his hair cropped short.  The leanness of his body only emphasised the breadth of his shoulders and the bright grey of his eyes were startlingly clear against the tan.  She caught her breath; if he was wearing desert camouflage instead of jeans and a leather jacket it would be Ronin standing in front of her.

“Clint…” in an instant her arms were around him, her head resting on his shoulder, assuring herself of his warmth and solidity; that he wasn’t going to melt away in front of her. “Oh, Clint…”

She couldn’t find the words for what she wanted to say.  No words were sufficient to express the depth of her relief and gratitude.  His hand was on her head but there was a tenseness about him, a cold distance.  Deep down inside she could still sense the fire of his love but he felt wrapped in layers of ice and steel.

“Sara…” his voice choked and faltered, then became hard and efficient “We have to get out of here.”

He sounded hoarse and dry, like he’d not spoken much for a very long time.  Sara looked into his eyes; seeing the loneliness and confusion behind his cold, steady gaze.  She reached to touch his face and he flinched slightly, as if expecting a blow. 

“We have to go” he repeated, firmly.  Sara became aware of Lucky’s frantic barking and the pounding, scratching noises as he tried to batter his way out of the bedroom.  He could smell blood and danger, Mistress was afraid, but there was another smell too; Master? Master! Master! Master!

He came galloping out as Sara opened the door, jumping up at Clint; licking and sniffing as if to make sure he was really there.  For a second, Sara saw and felt something of the Clint she knew as he petted and scratched his dog.  Lucky’s coat was clean, trimmed and well groomed; he looked healthy and happy, a damn sight better than when he’d been taking care of him on his own.  Clint looked up at Sara

“You looked after him.”  It was a statement not a question.  Sara nodded

“You knew I would…”

Deep down inside, Clint wanted to cry; he’d been betrayed and abandoned so many times, he’d expected the same here. Anger certainly, maybe outright rejection, definitely slaps and hard words; not that the only two living beings he cared for had waited for him all this time to greet him with their unconditional love.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  The violence inside him was too strong, deprived of a real target.  He couldn’t afford to let down his defences, not yet, not now; not while he was still a danger.

“We can’t take him with us” he said, standing up “Too big a liability”

Sara looked at him for a second; trying to comprehend this confused, dangerous, stranger who still seemed to have so much of her Clint inside him. 

“I’ll call Tony” she said “Arrange for him to meet us on the road.  He can bring some of your stuff from the Penthouse; and I need to tell him about…”

Sara looked towards where Colby’s body lay on the kitchen floor and felt the sharp sting of her tears.  She went over and knelt beside him, closing his eyes and placing a clean dishtowel over his face. 

“I’m sorry…” she whispered.  He’d always been such a good friend to her; they’d been playing backgammon and thinking about pizza, things like this weren’t supposed to happen.

She felt Clint’s hand on her shoulder

“We have to go.”

On the road, he explained to her in brief sentences; like he was delivering a mission report.  He’d called Tony when he heard the news about the Battle of the Triskelion, found out where she was staying and headed there.  Tony hadn’t said why she was in danger from Hydra, just that he had to get there quickly.  He’d seen the two S.H.I.E.L.D. Field Agents heading towards the house and stalked them.  The rest she knew. 

“...sorry I wasn’t there in time for Colby.  He was a good man.”

Clint pulled in to the side of the road.  There were still a few minutes before Stark was due to arrive.  He switched off the engine and turned to Sara

“I can’t…” he began, then paused and started again; trying to find a way to explain “I can’t be what I was to you; not now, maybe not ever.  I’m not that man anymore.”

He turned his face away from her again and looked down.

“I don’t know who I am anymore… or what.”

Sara reached out and put her hand on his as it rested on the steering wheel.  Like before, he flinched at her touch but didn’t pull away.

“I don’t need you to be anything, or anyone, for me, Clint.” She said quietly “I just want to be here with you, can you allow me that?”

Clint clenched his jaw and nodded, unable to speak for the moment; afraid of what he might say or do if he relaxed his control.

“I don’t deserve you, Sara…” he managed to whisper at last.

Their rendezvous with Tony was quick and to the point.  He handed over Clint’s guitar and a fresh supply of ‘trick’ arrowheads and agreed to look after Lucky.  None of them had time for long conversation.  Tony needed to get back to the Tower and deal with the mess caused by S.H.I.E.L.D.’s fall while Sara and Clint had to get to the Wolfe’s cottage.  She’d called Beth’s apartment only to be told by Jared that her sister was up there on a couple of weeks ‘retreat’ whatever that meant.  There was no point in trying to call her cell phone; the cottage had zero reception of course.

This was going to be an interesting re-union, Sara thought, but Beth would just have to put up with Clint’s presence.  If she was in danger from Hydra it felt likely Beth was as well, and they both needed Clint’s protection.  They’d been on the road for an hour, driving in silence, before he tentatively broached the question…

“So… can you hear what I’m thinking?”  He sounded nervous and a bit incredulous.  What Tony told him about Sara’s ‘talent’ seemed fantastic; but the fantastic was becoming commonplace and Bruce, the most sceptical person he knew, appeared to believe it.

“It doesn’t seem to work like that…” Sara told him.  It was difficult to describe, like being broadly aware of the general trend of someone’s train of thought without knowing the specifics.  It was only if she concentrated that she could start ‘thinking synchronously’ with them, to use Bruce’s expression.

“You don’t want my thoughts in your head…” Clint said quietly “I don’t even want them.”

He paused again before asking the question that really worried him

“Can you get into someone’s mind?”

Sarah shook her head

“Bruce seems to think it’s possible, but I’ve never tried” she glanced over at Clint who was staring straight ahead at the road “I never would; you’ve already had too many people in there who had no right to be…”

Clint gave a short dry laugh

“You reading my mind, lady?”

Sara laughed as well, it was the first thing approaching humour Clint had shown since they met.  It looked as if he was about to ask something else but then decided not to.

They arrived in the early hours of the morning.  Beth’s car was parked outside the cottage.  The place looked dark but Clint could see a hint of light inside. Perhaps a lamp in an inner room with the door ajar.  His sharp eyes caught a hint of movement across the light.  Too tall to be Beth, she was only a couple of inches taller than Sara, definitely masculine.  He signalled Sara to stay in the car and headed down the track, staying low and keeping in the cover of the hedges. 

Cellar and ground floor doors were always a dangerous call; those were the ones people were most likely to watch or trap.  Upper floors were a different matter altogether.  Years of free-running and his early acrobatic training stood Clint in good stead.  Lodging his foot on one of the junctions on the drainpipe he landed quietly on the shingled roof of the porch, running lightly across and up to the partially opened bedroom window. 

There was no sight or sound of movement within so he eased the window all the way open and slipped inside.  There were three bedrooms and a bathroom on this floor; all empty, one bedroom showing signs of being in use. No sound of movement or other evidence of occupancy.  If it hadn’t been for the light and the flitting shadow seen earlier he might think the place was empty.  Clint’s soft-soled shoes made little noise as he moved fast and quiet down the stairs, gun ready, turning at the bottom. 

In the far doorway he saw the silhouette of a tall, muscular, figure; gone before he could fire a shot.  The man moved fast, faster than anyone Clint had seen other than Steve.  Before he could react properly the man was on him, wrenching the gun from his hand.  Clint heard himself yell in pain as something tore in his wrist.  The yell was stifled as a powerful hand closed around his throat and squeezed hard, pushing him against the wall and lifting him off his feet without any apparent effort.

Clint flexed his arm and the balisong dropped into his uninjured left hand.  He stabbed hard at the arm holding him; he kept his knives razor sharp and this would cut through to the bone. The point of the knife caught in the fabric of the man’s jacket and tore down through it without penetrating the flesh beneath; the blade snapping as it went. 

Clint struggled to breathe as the unnaturally strong grip tightened around his throat, his opponent oblivious to his increasingly desperate punches and kicks.  Through the ripped fabric, he caught a glint of interlaced metal bands mimicking the movement of skin and muscle.

_Oh Christ… no… please no…_

The last thing he heard, before the blackness claimed him, was the sound of Sara screaming.

**To be continued…**

 

 


	14. When the Mighty Fall Pt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three of the "Season Finale"  
> The peace and quiet of the Wolfe's country retreat gives Beth a chance to relax and let go of the stresses and resentments she's been carrying.  
> As she enjoys the sunset, a stranger watches from the shadows; a stranger who may have arrived in time to stop the man sent to kill her.  
> Two journeys come together as John Garrett sets his old protégé a new mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> Violence, brief reference to drugs and mild implication of non-consensual sexual activity  
> Reviews and comments welcome

_I ought to stop smoking_

Beth always said she only smoked when she felt really stressed. Recently she'd been on a carton of stress a day. She laid the cigarette down in the ashtray and flicked through the records before deciding on 'Live at Birdland'; say what you like about Mom and Dad, they had a great jazz collection. She didn't really like jazz that much, but getting into it had been the one way she found to have at least something in common with her parents and it still had a bit of a comfort vibe to it. She poured herself another glass of wine and took a draw on her cigarette. Yes, she should give up, but good jazz needed smoke to feel right. If she'd thought about it beforehand, she'd have got some of that superb weed Tom and Jared always seemed to have. Maybe when she drove down to the village at the weekend to get supplies she'd give them a call.

After the first jittery day of electronics withdrawal it had really been quite refreshing not have text or email reminders pinging up all the time, and Dr Corben's advice about a total media fast was certainly bringing results. She was sleeping better and the bags under her eyes were gone. No phone signal or WiFi made the cottage seem a much more attractive place than she'd previously thought. She had to do this more often, maybe have a long weekend with Sara and try to reconnect properly; Clint would be the elephant in the room, but perhaps if the two of them could have an open, honest, talk about him they could finally put that to one side and begin being sisters again.

It looked like it was going to be a glorious sunset and she decided to take her wine out onto the deck and watch the colours shift and change, until it became too dark to stay out and the air began to cool. The silence was the other thing she was starting to love, and she lifted the needle off the record so she could start to breathe it in, enjoying the absence of sirens, alarms or the constant background hum of aircraft and traffic. Beth pulled the scrunchie out of her hair and shook it loose, letting it fall to her shoulders as she walked out onto the deck with bottle and glass in hand.

She was glad they'd decided not to sell the place. Mom and Dad called it a 'cottage' but really it could have functioned as a substantial family home; that was typical of them. She could remember Grandpa Rupie's tales of the family's pre-war East Prussian grandeur, manorial estates and boar hunts; mentions of a 'von' that had been dropped when he became a US citizen and hints that back in 'the good old days' she and Sara would have been Baronesses. In that context, this must have seemed like a charming little rural retreat. Beth smiled as she drank some more wine and watched shades of blue fading into russet and gold in the western sky; 'Baroness Elizabeth von Wolfe', that would certainly spruce up her C.V. and maybe the vivacious, lovely, little Baroness Sara would have attracted a more eligible suitor…

_Let's not go there…_

'Try letting go…' Dr Corben had advised, and out here in the evening quiet she knew he was right. Maybe she would give up smoking after she'd accomplished the truly challenging feat of giving up obsessing about Clint Barton; nicotine withdrawal would be child's play after that. She ought to be more understanding about what her little sister was going through. If it was this hard for her to stop thinking about the man it must be 100 times worse for Sara.

The air was still warm and smelled of pine-resin, no sound other than the movement of the trees. She had to do this more often. It was the perfect place to be, to get away from all the stupid little things she worried about and just enjoy being herself.

The Winter Soldier watched from the cover of the undergrowth as the tall, dark haired woman stood in the pool of light outside her house and watched the sunset. She looked younger than her photograph in the file. The woman in that picture looked tense, hard faced, someone carrying a lot of resentment. Here, she seemed more relaxed, smiling slightly as she sipped her wine and watched the darkening sky. She was beautiful, he realised; with a mature, intelligent face and a full, sensual mouth that seemed better suited for smiling than frowning.

They'd given him women now and again he remembered, drugged into compliance, as a reward for a well completed mission. What had happened to them after he had no idea, he never saw them again, and they looked nothing like this elegant bourgeois enjoying a summer evening at her country home. There had been another woman once, young and red-haired, in a place where they trained assassins; for some reason her image stuck in his mind although name and context eluded him.

He'd kept watch on the house since early morning, checking the approaches and the likeliest vantage points an assassin would use. He observed the woman and her routine. She was staying there alone and didn't appear to be awaiting or even desiring company; someone quietly coming to terms with solitude.

If she had been one of his targets he could have taken her out with a single clear, clean shot at any point during the day. Different assassins had their own preferred methods; depending on their training, skill sets and inclination. In theory, he should be able to take down the killer, or killers, without going near the house or the woman. That would be the best option, avoiding complications, but where a Termination order was in place HYDRA wouldn't let one failure deter them. If they accessed the house, he would need to know the layout. Something in him also wanted to take a closer look at this woman they wanted dead.

He waited until she went back inside the house and the music started again before emerging from his hide and stealthily making his way down. Jumping up quietly onto the deck he went through the french windows into the living room. The woman was through in the kitchen, preparing herself something to eat. He was through there before she realised there was an intruder.

Beth turned at the sound behind her and screamed when she saw the dark clad, muscular, man standing in the doorway. Her first instinct was to run and she made for the back door but he was too quick and grabbed her round the waist and arms. She tried to kick back at his shins but she was barefoot and he was wearing what felt like heavy biker boots.

"Please…" she begged

"I am not going to hurt you" the man said, his voice was deep and gruff "But you must listen, and not try to run."

Beth nodded, fighting back her panic; trying to recall what they taught in those seminars on handling an intruder. Lesson number one was 'Keep calm!'

"I… I won't run…" she promised. The way he'd moved, she wouldn't get far if she did. "Just please… let me go."

"Turn around slowly" he said, releasing his grip "and do not do anything stupid"

Beth turned as he instructed. The man's speech was oddly stilted, as if he hadn't spoken much for a long time or English wasn't his first language; but she could detect hints of Brooklyn in his accent.

The man was only an inch or two taller than her, collar length dirty brown hair and sharp blue eyes. Broad and muscular, wearing a black bomber jacket over a high-necked leather waistcoat, a tight black leather glove on his left hand. A rifle case was strapped to his back and he looked, and smelled, like he'd been living rough for a few days. Under that there was a strange, musty, aroma; like something kept in a cellar for a long time.

Some sort of crazy drifter or biker type. There was a wild, dangerous, look about him and she began to fear she had an escapee from a psychiatric ward on her hands or a lunatic survivalist on the prowl.

He was watching her closely, like he was waiting for her next move. Beth knew she had to stay very calm. Apart from seizing her when she'd tried to run he'd made no other violent or aggressive move and it was crucial that she didn't do anything to provoke him

"I… I'm Beth…" she stammered, attempting a smile, it was another thing they'd taught on the course; use your name as much as possible, personalise yourself so as not to appear like an object. "Beth Wolfe, this is my house… Wh… what's your name?"

The man's brows furrowed slightly, as though the question puzzled him. Beth wondered if he had amnesia, his face was bruised and his clothes looked like he'd been in a bad accident in the last few days. If that was so he might not be the threat she feared; just confused and injured, looking for help.

"Bucky…" he said suddenly, remembering the name the blond-haired man had used "He said my name was Bucky."

"Who did?" Beth asked automatically, wincing inwardly at being so direct. That sort of question might be dangerous. The man looked at her, still trying to pull his memories together. He hadn't been out of cryostasis this long since the Red Room, and the repeated electroshock treatments were scrambling his recall of the last few days. Beth couldn't avoid noticing how vividly blue his eyes were, or the slightly lost, helpless expression in them. Under the grime, stubble and bruises he looked young, almost boyish. Certainly no older than her.

"I think he knew me from somewhere…" he said at last "We fought… he fell…"

Beth took a cautious step forward, she was no expert in these things but the man had definitely suffered some severe trauma or shock recently and needed assistance.

"Bucky" she said, maintaining eye contact "There's a doctor in the village, I can drive you down. He'll be able to help."

"No!" his voice turned hard and anger flashed in his eyes "I've had enough of doctors…"

She took a step back, the fear returning; perhaps he was an escaped psychiatric patient after all.

"Okay, no doctor…" she spoke slowly and carefully "but you have to tell me how I can help you."

_Don't panic, show him you want to be his friend_

"I told you" Bucky sounded slightly frustrated with her "I am here to help you, you're in danger."

"I don't understand" Beth said, trying to keep herself calm "How am I in danger?"

"Let me show you" he reached into his jacket pocket and Beth felt herself start to shake, she sighed with relief when he pulled out a flash drive "May I use this?"

He pointed at the laptop on the dining table. She'd brought it with the idea of starting work on the novel she'd talked about for years. This would certainly make a great opening scene if she survived to write it.

She nodded, at least if he was focused on the computer he might not be paying so much attention to her.

Beth couldn't avoid feeling a curious fascination as Bucky plugged the flash-drive into her laptop and opened it up. A part of her was wondering whether she would have time to get to the car if she hit him hard enough with a lamp or a vase, but he was fast and strong. He hadn't hurt her, so far, doing something like that could be suicidal. It might be best to humour him for a while until she had a real opportunity to get away.

Another part of her wanted to find out what this man had concocted to sustain whatever fantasies his damaged brain clung to. There were a lot of file folders, many of them labelled in different languages and scripts, he scrolled down to one called 'Project Delphi' and opened it. Beth felt her anxiety sharpen and couldn't help but glance at the oil painting of the Delphi ruins that hung above the fireplace. He clicked on a sub-folder with the name 'Test Subject D-W-1'

There were dozens of files and scanned documents. If this was all his work it must have taken hours just to create and accumulate them. If all the folders on the drive were like this, surely one man couldn't…? She shook her head, that was the trouble with the truly mentally disturbed; sometimes their worlds were so creative and convincing you ended up getting drawn in before you realised it. The man opened one named 'T-Order '. At the head of the document was a watermark, at first glance it looked like a red octopus but looking closer she saw it was a bizarre tentacled skull with the word HYDRA beneath it.

"This is why I came" he explained "They issued a termination order."

Other than the ominous words 'Termination – see mission notes' little of it made sense to her; lots of scientific terms, stuff about 'weak responsiveness' and 'mild latency', then she saw the name at the bottom of the order.

"F.. Frank Corben?" she stammered. How could some random crazy guy know this? Had he been stalking her?

"You know him?" the man asked, glancing at the bewildered, fearful woman. Her eyes were a deep azure blue he noted, an unusual colour, and he could see the pulse in her throat quickening as her heart raced.

"He… he's my therapist." She said at last.

"Then you've been telling your secrets to a senior HYDRA officer"

Beth stepped back, shaking her head in denial;

"That's… this is…." she didn't want to say the word 'insane' in case it triggered something, instead she opted for what felt like the safer option of keeping the man talking. "What the hell is HYDRA?"

He looked like he was almost about to smile at that question

"Haven't you been watching the news?" he asked

"No, not for a few days… Dr Corben…" Dr Corben had suggested she come to this remote cottage without phone or internet, that she deliberately avoid all television and radio to 'mentally detox'.

The man nodded towards the television in the corner of the living room. Moving carefully and keeping one eye on him, Beth switched it on and turned to a news channel.

Three days after the event, there was still plenty about the events in Washington and elsewhere; footage of the collapsing, burning Triskelion building, an Air Force General talking about 'neutralising corrupt elements', Tony Stark at a press-conference fielding questions regarding the whereabouts of the other Avengers and jumpy cell-phone videos of a tall, dark haired man in black leather striding past burning cars. One of the girls at the office had shown her similar footage the day after the Washington shootings, saying that someone was ripping it down from YouTube as fast as it got put up. The man could see her carefully controlled anxiety slipping into open fear as she turned to him with a look of recognition.

"You…" she whispered, her voice shaking, backing away from him "Please…"

"I told you, I am not here to hurt you…" he reminded her "They no longer control me, but there is someone on his way to kill you"

"Why…?" she could feel herself starting to shake, feeling herself falling into the same demented world she'd feared Sara would get trapped in "I'm not anyone…"

"I don't know" he said, and indicated the laptop "But the answer is in those files, something about an experiment?"

"I've never been part of…"

_Oh Christ… Mom and Dad… what were they really doing?_

She had to sit down, have a cigarette, something to drink. The madness was seizing hold of her and the room starting to spin. Bucky took hold of her arms to steady her and she flinched at his touch with a small cry of fear. His grip was strong, though not rough, but his gloved left hand felt odd in a way she couldn't explain.

"I am not going to hurt you" he repeated "but you must stay calm and do what I say."

Beth couldn't explain it, but suddenly she wasn't afraid anymore; at least not of this peculiar man. Looking into Bucky's intense blue eyes she knew that he was telling the truth; that she was in danger but not from him. Despite the confused storm of broken thoughts and memory fragments she could  _feel_  inside him, he was here to protect her and had the skills to do it.

"What are we going to do?" her voice was almost a whisper.

"We wait" he said. The enemy was on his way, best to lay in wait and surprise him "Is there a safe place here?"

"I don't know" Beth thought for a moment "Dad's study perhaps?"

It was the only room in the house without external windows. Dad always said he worked better without the distraction of a view.

"You should stay there tonight" he told her "I will keep…"

Bucky paused, cocking his head.

"Someone is coming, go…"

"I don't hear…" she began

"Go" he snapped, glaring at her. There was no questioning that order and Beth headed to the study.

"Leave a lamp on" he instructed and left the study door slightly ajar so a tempting sliver of light spilled into the hallway. Moving quickly, he turned off the rest of the lights. With his enhanced sight and hearing he could just about detect the figure zig-zagging across the lawn low and fast. He could tell by the way it paused and stiffened for a moment that whoever it was had caught a glimpse of him and was shifting course accordingly.

The faint, soft, noises from the side of the house told him the assassin was making for the upper floor. Clever, most wouldn't expect that, but it meant there was only one route down and that gave the Winter Soldier an advantage.

He could hear the soft tread upstairs. The man was good, a true professional, HYDRA had sent one of their best. The footsteps moved towards the top of the stairs; he'd come down fast but quiet, weapon at the ready and prepared for action. That one glimpse was all he needed; a calculated risk, but the Winter Soldier liked to get a look at his opponent before going in for the close kill. The man was short and slight, moving with controlled speed; the gun raised and ready immediately a target was spotted. Fast, likely to be much stronger than his size suggested, and highly skilled; a man not to be underestimated, even considering the advantages provided by Zola's serum and a bionic arm.

He could have taken him out with a single shot as he reached the foot of the stairs, but eliminating another HYDRA assassin felt personal. He wanted to look into the man's eyes and make sure he knew who was killing him.

He was fast, the Winter Soldier could feel the heat of the shot against his cheek as he twisted the gun out of the smaller man's hand; hearing him yell in pain as his wrist was jerked sharply round. Clamping his bionic hand about the assassin's throat he slammed him against the wall, lifting him off his feet; placing pressure against the right spots to cut off air and blood flow. The man kicked at him, hard; nothing so hard he couldn't absorb the blows for the short time it would take.

The knife came as a surprise, a hidden sheath in the sleeve. The man was left handed, that was a nice touch; must have taught himself to be ambidextrous with weapons. Would have got him out of a few tight corners, not this one though. It did nothing more than rip open the sleeve of his jacket, the blade breaking against whatever metal the HYDRA scientists had used to forge his arm. If the Winter Soldier was the type to find satisfaction in a kill, the look of sudden terror in the man's eyes, as his punches and kicks became even more frantic, would have given him a great deal of pleasure

He was slipping into unconsciousness; his face dark purple, eyes rolling up to show the whites. The blows were getting weaker; no more than desperate grasping. Only a little more pressure from his thumb and the assassin's windpipe would be crushed.

The woman's scream distracted him and the pressure of his grip eased slightly. In the hallway, he saw a slender red-haired woman in a dark green coat and memories stirred within him. His brows furrowed as the man pinned against the wall gave a wheezing gasp, his body trying to suck air into his tortured lungs.

"Natalia…?"

###

"Now that's what I call a job well done" The satisfaction in Garrett's voice was evident as he strapped himself in. They'd taken the Fridge quick and hard, raided a whole candy-store of advanced tech, and released a horde of lunatics to keep Coulson and his band of desperadoes busy for the immediate future. Despite recent inconveniences he could afford to be cheerful.

"I ever tell you about that time me, Rumlow and Rollins had a stopover in Bangkok?"

Ward grinned and shook his head as Garrett launched into yet another anecdote. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed being around his old friend and mentor. Garrett had been everything a father should have been to him; tough, prepared to teach a hard lesson, but always willing to reward effort and a job well done. Coulson? He was too much of a boy scout, an idealist; thinking everyone could be fixed with a second chance and a kind word. Hadn't worked out too well for Barton; word was bird-boy had gone full-on psycho.

"…so, on the way back he turns to me and says 'Look, it's only gay if her dick's bigger than yours!'"

As Ward and the others on the Quinjet erupted into laughter, Garrett leaned over and handed him a photograph.

"Got a new job for you, son" he said, his voice becoming serious "and it's gonna be a tough one."

Ward looked at the girl in the picture; she was lovely, long golden-red hair and bright green eyes. He glanced up at Garrett

"Who is she?"

"They called me the Clairvoyant" Garrett laughed and tapped the photo "Son, meet the Oracle…"

 


	15. Blood Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Season Two” opens with Clint experiencing a horrific flashback to his captivity in Tajikistan, compelling Sara and the Winter Soldier to collaborate in bringing him back.  
> Tensions between the four people in the Wolfe’s summer home is held back by the urgency of the situation as Clint and Bucky handle the real HYDRA threat.  
> Sara truly begins to learn what she can do with her gift, leading her to a shock discovery.  
> Despite what some may think, black is not good night-time camouflage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> Torture and the aftermath of torture.   
> Violence and strong language  
> Reviews and comments welcome

_Clint could feel his throat closing as his head was forced back into the bucket of stinking liquid.  He’d lost all track of time, his captors might have been doing this for hours; holding his head under until he was thrashing and struggling, lungs aching from lack of air, hauling him up long enough to suck in a breath then starting over again.  His eyes burned despite keeping them screwed shut against the stuff and it filled his ears and nose.  They’d held him under too long this time and he’d inhaled a mouthful; even when they hauled him up he still couldn’t breathe, couldn’t open his throat to let the air in.  His whole chest felt on fire; someone told him once that choking to death was quick, but oh God it hurt so bad! One breath, that’s all he wanted! Please! Just one breath!  He was gonna die here.  Please! Just let me breathe!  I don’ wanna die! Not here, not like this! Not when…_

He could feel the ropes being undone, strong hands moving him into a sitting position; a warm hand over his heart and a voice saying something.  An American accent telling him to relax, to breathe. They’d found him.  Got to him in time; but there wasn’t meant to be an extraction for this mission.  If the infiltration failed that was it, bye-bye Hawkeye!  Who would’ve…? Phil! With that realisation, he felt his throat start to relax and he took his first real breath.  He should have known Phil wouldn’t leave him to die in this cellar no matter what the mission regulations said.  If his eyes weren’t already inflamed and tearing from the uric acid he could’ve cried with relief. 

There was another voice, a woman, holding a glass to his lips and telling him to drink.  The water was clean and warm, she’d added honey to soothe his raw throat; taking away the stale, rancid taste of piss and puke.  Sara! Phil had brought sweet little Sara so he’d know he was really safe.

The sudden incongruity cleared Clint’s mind and vision.  Sara was there, sure, holding his head and helping him drink.  But the man wasn’t Phil, he had long dark hair and a bruised, unshaven face.  He’d removed the slashed jacket and the metal arm with the red star was on full display.

Bucky saw the way the man flinched back, even in this state his body was tensing up ready to fight or run.  He stepped back out of arms reach, spreading his hands to show empty palms.

“I am not going to harm you, or the woman.” He said “If you want to leave I will not try to stop or follow you.”

The last few minutes had been manic, confusing, ever since the red-haired woman in the dark green coat had appeared and Beth had emerged from the study.  The woman he’d mistaken for Natalia was Beth’s sister, he was told; and the man whose throat he’d almost crushed, her boyfriend. Some sort of rogue agent or hitman on the run; he wasn’t sure what yet as the women had fallen to arguing as soon as Beth asked him to tie the man up ‘until we know what to do’

This is why assassins prefer work alone, he thought to himself as he secured the man’s wrists and ankles. There was something familiar about this man, it was the eyes; that unusual bright grey, so clear against the heavily tanned face.  He could feel memories stirring again as he finished securing the knots. 

The man began to struggle as soon as he regained consciousness, not uncommon, but within seconds Bucky realised he was having some sort of seizure; choking for breath, eyes open but unseeing, his whole body convulsing painfully.  A severe shell-shock reaction.  He began untying him immediately; the order had been to restrain the guy, not torture him.  The woman in the green coat, Sara? had run to the kitchen to get water while the older women seemed rooted to the spot, taken aback by the sudden violence of the man’s reaction.

“You had a seizure” he added “I apologise”

“It wasn’t a seizure” Sara said, helping Clint drink some more.  Warm water and honey, that would help relax and soothe his bruised throat.  She moved his head so he was making eye contact with her alone. He complied numbly, still in a state of semi-shock “You were having a flashback.  I could feel it.”

She saw the question in his eyes

“I didn’t even have to try, I could hear you screaming in my head… It was terrible.”

“I said…” Clint swallowed some more water, trying to get his voice above a hoarse croak “…said you wouldn’t want my thoughts in your mind.”

He rested his head against Sara’s shoulder, closing his eyes briefly to try and get his breathing and heartrate back to normal.  Sara glared at the other two as she stroked his hair and his shoulders started to shake.

“Never do this to him again!” she hissed, angrily “Ever!”

“I’m sorry Sara, really” Beth’s face was flushed and she sounded distressed “Him turning up like this… with all that’s happening… I didn’t…”

She started to cry and Sara held out her other hand to her sister

“Oh Beth… what’s going on, and who is this man?”

Beth took Sara’s hand

“His… his name’s Bucky…” she sobbed, trying to retain some fragments of self-control “He… he says some group called HYDRA want to kill me…”

“They’re after me as well” Sara told her, squeezing her hand gently “That’s why Clint came back, to help us…”

Sara spoke softly, but Beth could feel the sting in her sister’s words. 

“I’m sorry…” she said again, as much to Clint as to Sara, Bucky’s voice interrupted her

“If he is not the assassin, then they are still out there” The Winter Soldier’s voice was abrupt, business-like.  This was not a time for apologies or re-unions; he had to revise his strategy to consider these new elements.  The movement towards action was triggering memories; clearer and more consistent now.  Memories of the Winter Soldier along with those of the other man he’d been; those were fainter, but insistent as they tried to push their way forward through the maze of conditioning.  He recognized the other man now.  They had never met, but the Red Room had kept extensive files on potential assets and adversaries.  It was the eyes, there was no mistaking them

“ _Seryy Okhotnik_ , how is your wrist?” ‘Grey Hunter’, it was the codename the Red Room files had given to the hitman who’d made such a stir in the latter part of the 90’s; a handsome, ruthless, young killer notorious for taking his targets out with a single shot every time.  If Red Room trainees had ‘pin-ups’ then Grey Hunter would have appeared on a lot of dormitory walls.

Clint looked up at him, not surprised to hear this man utter a name he hadn’t heard for a decade.  He felt angry, embarrassed at breaking down the way he had, and still in some pain; but like the Winter Soldier, he knew the necessities of the situation demanded action.  Arguments and explanations could happen later, when Sara was safe.

“Sprained, I think” he winced, moving it carefully “gonna need a compression bandage”

“There’s some in the first aid kit” said Beth “I’ll get them”

The house was still in semi-darkness, only the faint light from the study lamp spilling into the hall, but she knew where to find what she was looking for, and kept low as Bucky instructed.

“Here is your gun” the Winter Soldier handed him the Glock 27.  It was Clint’s handgun of choice when he had to resort to firearms.  Small, easily concealed, accurate and powerful. ‘Just like me’ he’d once joked to Sara. “It’s fortunate you’re left-handed”

Clint glanced up at him as he took the gun and checked the magazine.  The man’s face was deadpan but that had felt almost like an attempt at humour.

“Yeah” he grunted “I’m such a lucky guy.”

He’d heard the rumours about the Winter Soldier over the years, it was like an underworld urban legend; the kinda thing you could imagine little kid hitmen telling tales about around the fire at hitman summer camp.  Natasha had let him in on some stuff; about her encounter with him in Odessa and a few hints about the Winter Soldier being involved in Red Room training.  It could give a guy nightmares, if he didn’t have enough fuel for those already.  Now the man was in the same room, hadn’t pulped his throat for some reason, and seemed to be guard-dogging for Sara’s bitch of a big sister.  Clint would like to think things couldn’t get much weirder but that would be tempting fate.  Beth had called him ‘Bucky’, where had he heard that name before?

Beth came back from the kitchen with the bandages and passed them to Sara who began strapping up Clint’s wrist.  She opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it when she saw the look he gave her.  Having him here didn’t make her feel any safer or happier, but he did have a legitimate reason to be pissed at her right now so it was better to shut up.

“You should get some rest” the Winter Soldier said to the two women as Sara finished bandaging Clint. “ _Okhotnik_ and I will keep watch”

“The name’s Clint” he said, looking up at the taller man “Guessing you won’t mind if I call you Bucky? Less of a mouthful than _Zimniy Soldat_ ”

Bucky, once again the name stirred memories of the blond man in the blue suit on the helicarrier; and other, more distant, memories calling to him through the fog in his mind.

“Bucky… that will be fine” he said at last and turned to Beth “You will need some bedding”

Beth stirred out of the daze she was in, fighting her thoughts back to practicalities

“There are some sleeping bags upstairs” she said to Sara “I’ll make us up a bed in Dad’s study”

Perhaps once they were alone together there would be a chance to talk, Beth thought as she headed up the stairs; maybe begin to make sense of this madness taking over their lives.

Sara fetched Clint another glass of water and a couple of painkillers from the kitchen.  She knew the house as well as Beth, moving about in the semi-darkness was no challenge to her

“You called me Natalia” she said to Bucky “Who’s she?”

The presence of this man was unnerving, like there were two people struggling inside him; neither fully knowing who they were.  It felt a little like the way Clint did when he was having a bad moment.  He seemed to be helping Beth though, and hadn’t killed her or Clint, so perhaps she should at least give him a chance.

“I think…” he paused “Someone I knew long ago… you reminded me…”

He stopped speaking and held his hand up for the others to remain silent; cocking his head to listen.  Sara tried to concentrate; she’d never attempted this before.  She’d explained to Natasha once that it felt like being surrounded by the hum of conversation at a party; mostly just white noise, but if she concentrated on a ‘voice’ it was possible to make out individual minds.  Clint, Beth, the man called Bucky, she could make out the shape and feel of their minds in the space around her.  Here in the middle of nowhere, without the background chatter of the city, it was easy to do.  She should be able to…

_Yes_

…despite her tension, she couldn’t help but smile; there were unfamiliar shapes in the pattern.  She caught Bucky’s eye and held up two fingers.  He looked at her quizzically for a second and then gave slight nod; motioning her to join her sister upstairs and signalling Clint to check the side windows while he did the same from the front. 

Both men kept low; using the shadows of the interior to give as little indication of motion as possible.  Instinct was taking over, each one trusting the other to do what they did best; fulfil the mission brief, protect the Assets and take out the Hostiles.

They were visible as a deeper black against the indigo of night, two figures moving around the edge of the lawn.  One heading for the back door, another the front.  They wouldn’t try for the deck; the big French doors might be tempting, but the approach was too exposed. The Winter Soldier signalled for Clint to take the one approaching the rear of the house while he would deal with the threat from out front.

Clint nodded and moved into a crouching position beside the doorway into the kitchen; keeping out of view as much as possible.  It was dark, but night-vision goggles were standard issue on missions like this.  He’d never needed them, better to let your eyes adjust naturally; plus, they really fucked with peripheral vision.  Bucky was gone almost before he knew it, only the faint movement of the curtains on one of the dining room windows showed his exit route; for a big fucker with a tin arm he moved damn quick and quiet.  Must cost him a fortune in WD 40.  The name was still niggling at the back of his head.  Where had he heard it before?  That thought could wait till later; the kitchen door had just creaked.

The red dot of the laser sight tracked along the carpet and up the wall.  Assholes!  He’d never used one of those either, too much of a giveaway.  The angle and position told him everything he wanted to know about where the shooter was and how they were holding their rifle – like you needed a rifle for this type of work! This was so fucking easy it was almost insulting.  It would have to be a face or neck shot, those were the only really vulnerable points when it came to body armour. If it was standard SHIELD issue he knew exactly where to aim.  His wrist hurt like hell, but he’d dealt with worse and could suck up the pain for the length of time this would take.

He heard the shot and felt the sharp sting in his calf as he rolled, but his own shot found its target and the figure went down choking. Clint was over there in a second and yanked the flak-helmet off the convulsing agent.  Didn’t recognize him, young looking, they must’ve figured a couple of rookies would be more than sufficient to take out a woman on her own. Mistake. He placed his gun to the young man’s head and finished him with a single shot; turning fast and ready to fire as he heard a noise behind him.  The Winter Soldier threw another flak-helmet down on the kitchen floor.  There was blood on his metal hand; had he given up guns for Lent or something, and just lost the habit?

“There were only the two of them; their jeep is further up the track.”  He paused “We should clear out of here, they may have back-up.”

“We’ll take my car” Clint said, holstering his gun “Paid cash for it yesterday, they won’t have it on file.  Once we’re well clear of here, buddy; you and me are going to have a Conversation.”

“You have questions” the Winter Soldier stated “So do I, but they can wait.”

###

They drove in silence, conversation could wait until later.  For now, they needed to get far away from the house.  Clint had tuned the radio to a rock & roll station to cover the absence of speech, ‘My car, my music’ was all he’d said. 

Bucky sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead at the road, while the two women were in the back.  Beth was curled up with her head pillowed on Sara’s lap; the evening’s experiences had drained her to the point of exhaustion.  For once it was the baby sister who proved the resilient one; she’d had a lot more time to get used to the strangeness of the world that lurked behind the comfortable lies of normality.

Sara gently stroked her sister’s hair, drowsy and lost in her own thoughts.  Tonight was the first time she’d had to use her abilities for real, rather than just in the little mental games she played with Bruce and Natasha.  It was also the first time she’d touched Clint’s mind, even by accident.  The jagged, broken patterns she sensed in there frightened her.  Whatever S.H.I.E.L.D. did had torn him apart inside, it was amazing he had enough internal coherence to keep going.  There had been something else though; patterns behind the patterns, like the shapes seen at the corners of the eye which vanished as soon as you tried to look at them. 

The realisation brought her back to full wakefulness like a bucket of ice water. 

_His memories, they’re still in there somewhere!_

 


	16. His Head Not Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint tries to make sense of the stranger called Bucky and work out who he really is.  
> Tony brings an injured Steve Rogers up to speed on events and has a couple of revelations up his tailored sleeve.  
> Sara and Beth discover the shocking truth of what their parents were doing and who their family really are.  
> Ronin makes a reappearance and Sara begins to understand what she must do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> Some explicit eroticism.  
> The Arabic is courtesy of Google Translate so I make no claims for its grammatical accuracy  
> Reviews and comments welcome

Clint took a long drink of beer; his throat still hurt and the bruises were beginning to show, but the cold, gassy liquid felt damn good as it made its way down to his stomach.  They’d found an out-of-the-way motel just before dawn, roused the stoner night clerk, and paid cash for what was jokingly described as a ‘suite’.  Two double bedrooms either side of a small living room; looked like they hadn’t redecorated since the early 80s.  The women were asleep in one, but this guy didn’t look like he was ready to sleep any time soon and Clint was running on his usual diet of energy drinks and caffeine pills smoothed out with cheap beer.

Bucky sat on the couch staring at the bottle in his hands, as if the concept of beer was unfamiliar to him.  Eventually he raised it to his lips and swallowed a mouthful.  He remembered drinking beer before, but in the fragment of memory that surfaced it was warmer than this; dark, smooth and malty.  It felt like that had been a very long time ago.  Now that he thought of it, he wasn’t sure what year this was.  Clint limped over to the chair opposite him and eased himself down, resting his injured leg on the coffee table.  The bullet had only grazed his calf but it still hurt like hell when he walked, add to that a throbbing wrist and a throat which felt like it had been sandblasted and it was a pretty typical post-mission catalogue of hurts. 

“Bucky?” he asked, taking another drink of beer “That a nickname, or short for something?”

From the moment they were on the road, the dark haired man had lapsed back into a state of frowning bewilderment that seemed to be his default setting at the moment; as if he was struggling to solve a puzzle he couldn’t quite grasp or make sense of the situation he found himself in.  Clint could relate to that, he’d been doing it himself for the past 16 months and was no nearer to any solution or answer.  This guy was another puzzle; he knew Clint’s old Red-Room codename but that had been almost 12 years ago and he didn’t look much over 30.  No way was he old enough to have been more than a teenager in Ronin’s heyday and the Winter Soldier had been legendary even then.

Maybe he was an assassin equivalent of a fanboy who’d done his research and taken the name as a tribute? If so, the bionic arm was pretty extreme cosplay. 

Bucky looked up from contemplating the label on the beer bottle

“I don’t know” he said flatly “It was what he called me…”

“Who’s ‘he’?”  Clint hadn’t had this much conversation in months, but if he was going to be on the road with this guy he wanted to have a better sense of him.  Besides, having someone else’s problem to pick at might be a distraction from the screaming in his head.  The name was still bugging him; where had he heard it before?

Bucky shook his head, he wanted to say ‘I don’t know’ again, but that felt like a surrender; giving in to the fog that kept rising to reclaim his memories as soon as he grasped at them.  He looked at the man across from him.  The eyes of the Hunter were still there but there was a look in them he didn’t recognize from the photographs he could recall.  It was familiar though, he could recall it from the faces of half remembered others.  The man who called himself Clint had horrors in his mind.  It brought a fleeting sense of kinship, the possibility this man might be able to understand what it was he saw when he closed his eyes; why he didn’t want to sleep.

“He seemed to know me…” Bucky spoke slowly.  These memories were recent, despite the electro-shock treatment they hadn’t receded completely into the mist. “He was tall…  blond…  carried a shield.”

It was the shield that stuck in his memory the most; more than the man, although the two felt inextricably linked as if one defined the other. 

Clint froze, the bottle millimetres from his lips, suddenly remembering a conversation thousands of years ago, back in that distant galaxy where he’d had a happy life; nothing more to worry about than the odd bad dream and whether Sara would like his new aftershave.  It came to him as clearly as if it had been last night, talking to Steve about dreams while getting ready for a Star Wars movie marathon.  Steve confessing to his own recurring nightmare.  No!  Even in this crazy world, it couldn’t be?

“Steve...?” he managed to say at last “Steve Rogers?”

Bucky flinched like he’d just been slapped in the face, a moment of clarity breaking through the fog.  He stared at Clint with an expression of astonishment.

“Yes!  Steve…” he frowned “You know him?”

###

Steve had woken to a universe of pain, screaming in agony the moment he came back to consciousness, barely aware of the medical staff scuttling around his bed adjusting drips and monitors.  Apparently, it wasn’t just food and alcohol that his system metabolised faster owing to Erskine’s serum; the standard ‘safe’ level of pain medication didn’t even dull the edge.  What they had him on now was sufficient to overdose a normal man nine or ten times over and keep a roomful of addicts happy for a weekend.

Aside from the gunshot wounds to his stomach and thigh, the stab wound in his chest, broken cheekbone and fractured jaw, there was a whole spectrum of breaks, dislocations, fractures and ruptures caused by falling almost a thousand feet onto the surface of the Potomac River.  Even with his enhanced recuperative abilities he was going to be in hospital for at least a week.  For the time being the hospital authorities were keeping the mob of agents, military officers and government officials from his bedside but he knew that sooner or later there were going to be questions, most of which he didn’t want to answer. 

Sam had been a constant visitor, keeping his mind occupied and stopping him from brooding, and now it was Tony sitting there.  The billionaire looked tired and drawn, heavy bags under his eyes, exhausted by the constant emergency committee hearings not even the Stark army of lawyers could field on his behalf. Steve tried to refrain from grimacing as he pressed the button that moved his bed into a semi-sitting position.  Even with the increased pain relief it still felt like his body was stuffed with nails and broken glass.

“What’s the news?” he asked.

Seeing Steve so badly injured scared Tony more than anything else that had happened over the past week.  He’d witnessed the supersoldier take his fair share of knocks before, even Erskine’s Serum didn’t confer invulnerability, but never anything as serious as this.  He was recovering fast but the scale of his injuries, and the existence of an opponent capable of inflicting them, only underlined the seriousness of their situation.  He quickly updated Steve on the rest of the team.  Bruce was well off-grid, the scientist had plenty of experience disappearing quickly and without trace.  Natasha had also vanished following the last hearing; taking herself deep undercover after dumping most of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files into the public domain, causing a feeding frenzy among the other agencies trying to secure and hide them once again.  Thor remained overseas, with Jane and Darcy.  Until they knew what and who they wanted to hit the Asgardian was of little practical use; subterfuge and secrecy were not his strong points and he happily admitted that.

“What about Sara…” asked Steve “Is she safe?”

“HYDRA tried to seize her; they must have found out about her abilities” A look of panic appeared in Steve’s eyes, “Don’t worry! Clint got her out…”

“Clint?” panic turned to astonishment “Is he…?”

“He’s in a bad way, Steve, looks like he’s barely holding it together” Tony sighed “I tried to get him to come in but he’s having none of it.  I think we may have lost him for good.”

If anyone could bring Clint back from the edge of the total breakdown he was teetering on, it would be Sara, Steve thought.  The young woman had grown a lot over the last few months, her confidence strengthening as she began to understand and use the power and abilities inherent within her. In his opinion, before too long, Clint was going to need her help more than she needed his.

“Sara can reach him” he said with quiet confidence “She may be the only one who can.”

“I hope you’re right” Tony shook his head sadly; remembering the hungry, hunted look in Clint’s eyes “He’s not the only one that’s back”

“I know” said Steve “Fury’s still alive.”

“Not just Fury” Tony replied with a grim smile “Agent Coulson…”

###

“They look… similar” Beth couldn’t take her eyes off the photographs on the screen; the man there had shorter hair, clean shaven and was smiling “but…”

“Not similar” said Sara, sensing how her sister was trying to hang on to her last shreds of normality “the same man.”

Clint stared at the Howling Commandos website as well; like Beth he wanted to deny what he was seeing but unless James Buchanan Barnes had an identical twin brother born forty years after his death they were looking at the same man. 

“Even back in ’45, HYDRA had tech far in advance of some of the stuff we got today” He looked at the bionic arm “Who’s to say what they couldn’t do with stuff like cryonics?  Cap was frozen naturally.  Maybe…”

“I remember the cold” Bucky said suddenly “When it went away the faces would be different, and sometimes the place.”

He looked up at Sara

“When you touched our minds at the house; what did mine feel like?”

“It felt like clouds of boiling smoke with flashes for fire through it” Sara closed her eyes, calling up the memory. “Like two minds who’ve been around for a long time struggling against each other.  I still don’t really know how to describe what I’m experiencing”

“Okay this is just getting crazier by the second” Beth stepped back, looking confused and distressed “I’ve got some Nazi secret society after me, a multiple murderer who may be telling the truth when he says an evil god made him do it, some guy with a metal arm who might be from the ‘40s and now my baby sister is talking about seeing into people’s minds…”

She turned away from them, hugging herself and starting to shake

“It was Mom and Dad, Sara…” her voice was small and trembling “They did something to us, I know it…”

Sara went over and put her arms around her big sister.  Beth had always been the strong one, too strong sometimes, and seeing her begin to break down like this was deeply unsettling.  Sara led her over to the couch and sat her down; holding her until she finished crying.  Clint handed the woman a beer from the fridge

“Here” he said “Might make you feel better”

“Th… thanks!” stammered Beth, still unable to make eye contact with him.  She took a deep breath and turned to Bucky “I want to see those files you showed me.  The ones about Delphi.”

“Now?” asked Bucky “Are you sure?”

Beth nodded

“I need to know what all this is about, and Sara should too.”

Bucky shrugged and pulled the flash drive out of his pocket, plugging it into the laptop.  He wasn’t sure of the wisdom of this; but with so many questions around, perhaps a few answers were worth the risk…

…It had been worth the risk, Beth thought as she held Sara in her arms, trying to coax her to sleep while the men bedded down in the living room.  Somehow that terrible truth the files showed them had restored her clarity and sanity.  She wasn’t the one who was insane; it was the world around her.  She stroked her little sister’s hair gently; feeling like she’d come full circle.

“I can’t believe it” Sara said quietly “They must have loved us, surely? We weren’t just…?”

An experiment? thought Beth, that’s all they were to them.  Part of some sick Nazi breeding program their grandfather had directed since the 1940’s, carried on by their parents under the aegis of the same organisation that hunted them.  They wanted Sara because she was the desired result, someone with true paranormal abilities.

_I’m just the test run, a loose end to be tidied away_

“I’m sure they loved us, little Sara” she said aloud “They just weren’t good at showing it”

Very good at not showing it, or any other emotion beyond a cold, patrician dedication to the family’s work and twisted political cause.  Wolfe wasn’t even their real name, a pseudonym chosen by their grandfather to hide the family’s true heritage before making a deal with the U.S. Army in 1945.

Elizabeth and Sara Von Strucker; in other circumstances that might have quite a ring to it.

###

Sara gasped as Ronin’s hand slipped between her thighs, his fingers teasing her while his other hand cupped her breast.  He kissed and licked at her neck, running his tongue along the sensitive skin in a way that made her shiver

“They’re coming for me, Lovely Sara” he murmured, slipping a second finger inside her as she pressed against him. “Coming to end her lonely Ronin”

She could barely concentrate on his words.  Ronin’s touch, his lips and tongue on her, the warm roughness of his hands as he caressed and explored; she needed to feel this man inside her, to possess every shred of his anger, pain and desire.  This man was a monster, she knew that, a hunted beast who killed for the thrill of the clean shot more than any money; but the way he handled her? It put a fire inside her that made her skin glow and sparks come from the ends of her hair. 

“Who?” she had to focus, to hold on to his words as much as his touch; something deep told her that if she failed now there would never be a second chance. “Who is it that’s coming?”

“Eagle or Monster, does it matter?” Ronin kicked his pants away from about his ankles, leaving him naked against her in a way he had never been before; giving himself to her completely “They’ll push Ronin to his knees in the dirt and put a bullet in his brain.”

He raised himself up on one elbow and stared into her eyes

“Will you shed a tear for Ronin when they do that?” his gaze was intense and questioning “Will you cry for me like you’ll cry for him when he puts a bullet in his?”

She could hear other voices, children’s voices; as if they surrounded this decrepit shanty whispering or chanting something that sounded like the wind in autumn leaves

_Rasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslak_

“I won’t let that happen” Sara pulled his head down and kissed him, tasting the smoky bitterness of his lips “Not to you, not to him”

“It’s all tumbling down, Lovely Sara, the walls are crashing down” he brought his fingers up to his mouth and licked them “Once last taste of honey before they send Ronin into the dark”

_Rasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslak_

She arched her back with a cry as he entered her, Ronin’s whole length filling her up with a single movement

“One last touch of your velvet before they steal you off to Delphi”

“I won’t let… won’t let them…” Sara gasped, she had to focus.  If she lost control now it would be the end of everything.  She grabbed Ronin’s hips, using all her strength to hold him still. “Tell me… You must…”

Ronin seized her wrists and pushed them back behind her head, kissing her fiercely as he thrust hard and deep.

_Rasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslak_

“the Sun… make it… make it come out…” he grunted, burying his face in her hair as he felt his climax approaching “Send… send it back up…”

_Rasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslakrasihwalayslak_

###

Bucky had taken the bed in the other bedroom; succumbing instantly to a deep, motionless, sleep.  Maybe his first natural sleep in seventy years.  Clint opted for the couch in the living room; dozing fitfully.  He’d kept his hearing aids in, tuned to the finest setting; he had to get some sleep, but couldn’t afford to relax his watch. Besides, go too deep and the dreams would begin. 

The sound of the door opening woke him instantly and he sat up as Sara came in.

“I thought you were sleeping” he said quietly, Sara shook her head

“Beth is, I can’t get any rest just now.”  She joined him on the couch, resting her head on his shoulder “Hold me, please?”

Clint clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking.

“Sara…” he whispered “I… you know I can’t…”

“I don’t mean that” she said “I just need to be near to you for a while, please?”

He relented and put his arms around her, there was plenty room for both as they lay down and he drew the blanket over them.  Having Sara this close frightened him, there would be no sleep while she was here; his night terrors could become violent.

Sara could feel his body trembling and she took his hand, kissing it.

“Just for a little while, I promise” she told him “then I’ll let you get some sleep”

Clint nodded, and nuzzled in close to her the way he remembered she liked.

“Clint, do you know what _rasih walays lak_ means?” she asked, he knew a lot of languages from his travels, maybe it would make sense to him.

“’s Arabic” he mumbled, face buried in her hair “something like ‘his head not yours’, why?”

“I heard it somewhere, maybe a movie” she lied, resting her cheek against his “It must have stuck in my mind”

Sara sighed softly and closed her eyes; she could feel that Clint wasn’t fully comfortable with this closeness, but she needed to have his warmth beside her, even if only for a few minutes.

_I think I know what I must do now_

 

 

 

 

 


	17. Incey Wincey Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth begins to form a bond with Bucky and reclaim something of her own identity.  
> Clint’s rapidly disintegrating mental state forces Sara into considering a desperate and radical course of action.  
> Dr Corben discovers that following procedure is not necessarily the smartest move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> References to past torture, physical and sexual abuse, and implied male rape  
> Reviews and comments welcome

Another cheap, anonymous, motel somewhere Beth had never heard of before; nor would ever have been likely to visit, paid for by cash from the gradually decreasing roll of bills in Clint’s back pocket.  Neither she nor Sara could risk using their bank or credit cards; even one transaction could help their pursuers locate the likely routes they might be taking.  Clint seemed to think he had another drop-box that could be safely accessed, but if that wasn’t the case then their options were diminishing as fast as the cash supply.

Beth never thought she would admit to being worried about Clint Barton, but over the last few days all of them had noticed him become increasingly withdrawn and easily agitated.  The stories about alien mental influence and secret brain-wiping programs scarily plausible as she watched the man she’d always seen as a smart-mouthed, cocky, asshole crumble into a silent haunted wreck.

He was asleep in the bedroom, Sara watching over him, while Beth found herself alone with Bucky in the living room.  He sat with a mug of coffee in his hands, staring into the black surface like a fortune teller trying to conjure up images in the reflective surface.  Beth was seated at the table, mirror and makeup bag in front of her, tidying herself up.  It seemed stupid to fuss over her appearance right now, but it was one little bit of normality she could cling to.

She turned to Bucky; her nervousness about him fading, replaced by a growing sense of fascination.  It was a shallow thing to admit, but he was undeniably handsome in a brooding, dangerous way; and there was a vulnerability about him, a fragility that something in her was responding to.  It felt hypocritical to acknowledge this fascination while still inwardly criticising Sara’s obsession with Clint, but part of her no longer cared.  Her whole childhood and sense of who she was had been built on a set of cruel lies she’d tried to live up to.  Maybe it was time to begin discarding Beth Wolfe and discover who Elizabeth von Strucker wanted to be.  There was a question she’d never got around to asking…

“Why did you come to help me?”

Bucky fought back the automatic response as he felt it rising to his lips.  The repeated ‘I don’t know’ was an admission of defeat; that he couldn’t or wouldn’t break through the conditioning of the Winter Soldier to find out who he had been, or was now.  It was a long pause, but Beth waited patiently; brushing her hair.  The woman didn’t seem scared of him anymore, or had become very good at hiding it, instead she appeared curious and not in a morbid or prurient way; perhaps this was how she was trying to cope with the world of madmen and monsters she’d been dragged into.

“It was your photograph” he admitted at last “You looked…”

“Like a bad-tempered bitch?” she laughed, the picture at the front of the file was terrible; scowling as if she’d just come from a bad meeting, which she probably had.  Bucky shook his head

“You looked unhappy” he said “Then at the house I saw you were alone, and had become used to it…”

“I didn’t have a very emotionally rich childhood, as you’ve seen.” Beth laid down her hairbrush “That proved to be inhibiting when it came to forming adult relationships.”

“The file said you were an experiment” Bucky stared down at his hands.  He must have had this metal arm for decades, but there were still times he got a shock of fear when he looked down and saw it; like he was seeing it for the first time again. “So am I.  I thought if I understood what they did to you…”

“…that it might help you cope?  Or start to remember?”  She could feel his train of thought well enough to guess the words.  Perhaps this was the ‘latency’ her file spoke of; a shadow of whatever it was went through Sara when she touched someone’s mind.  Part of Beth couldn’t believe she was accepting all of this, but when your world’s gone mad sometimes you just have to roll with the crazy until it becomes normal.

“Perhaps, or maybe I wanted to help someone like me” He looked directly at her, his brown eyes deep and thoughtful “Someone who didn’t deserve to have this happen to them…”

Instinctively she reached out and put her hand on his.  He flinched at the touch and she took it away

“I’m sorry…” she said “Do you remember anything of who you were?”

“I remember falling from the train” his brow furrowed with the effort of memory “seeing his face… Steve’s face… as I fell; everything else is just fragments.”

The expression on Steve’s face was seared into his memory; horror, guilt and grief.  He knew, as he fell, that Steve would blame himself; the big sap always took responsibility for everything even when it wasn’t his fault.  He had to find him again, even if it was just to tell him ‘It wasn’t you, I was the one who couldn’t hold on’

“You love him, don’t you?”  Beth had no idea where that came from or why she said it out loud.  Even today, some men would find that hard to admit about another; for someone from the aggressively heteronormative, homophobic world of the 1930s & 40s such an idea must be unthinkable.

Bucky looked at her for a long time before answering

“Yes” he sounded quiet and thoughtful, like someone waking from a dream “Yes, I do.”

They both turned as Sara ran into the room

“Please, I need your help” her voice shook “Something’s wrong with Clint”

###

He couldn’t tell if he was dreaming or waking. The Fear was always there now, and the memories; like spiders crawling through his brain and over his skin, thousands of tiny legs tapping at him, exploring, feeling, penetrating…

_Incey wincey spider…_

Clint curled himself up in a ball, shivering uncontrollably as they crept all over him, inside him, under his skin and behind his eyes; dragging in their wake the sights, sounds and smells he was trying to hide from.  Not just Laura and the children under his knife anymore; that always came first and was the last to go, but all the other horrors wove through it now as well…

_Climbed up the spout…_

Haus and Rooney laughing while they pinned him down in that cheap hotel room in Panama City… DuQuesne’s boots slamming into his skull and ribs while Barney stood by and watched… The Ten Rings’ goons flogging him with electrical cables ‘till he could feel the blood running down his legs…

_Down came the rain…_

If S.H.I.E.L.D. were gonna fuck with his memories, couldn’t they at least have done something about those ones? Spilling Dad’s beer and getting smacked so hard it fractured his jaw… ‘Uncle’ Joey at the County Orphanage and his special games, crooning that rhyme as his fingers crept like spiders’ legs…

_And washed the spider out…_

Clint screamed as a hand touched his shoulder; ‘Uncle’ Joey waking him to tell him it was ‘playtime’.  He struck blindly with his hand; more of a slap than a blow

“Naow… don’ wanna play incey wincey ‘ny mo’! …don’ like it!”  he yelled, his voice slurred and petulant.

Bucky leaned back to avoid the swing of Clint’s arm, braced for any further reaction, but the man had retreated into a quivering ball hunched into the corner between the sink and the bathroom wall.

“What’s wrong with him?” Beth asked anxiously from the bedroom “Another flashback?”

Sara shook her head, this wasn’t a flashback; it felt very different, like Clint’s mind starting to collapse in on itself.  He must have been fighting this on his own for months while on the run, slowly losing the battle all the time.  Lasting this long was a testament to his inner strength, but now that strength was exhausted. Bruce had given her some Psych 101 reading material so she could begin to grasp how the human mind worked.  She’d read something about fugue states and feared this might be one.

“It’s like he’s trapped in some repeating loop” Sara said “A nightmare he can’t wake up from”

“Sara” Bucky took her to one side “We can’t be on the road with him in this state”

Sara looked at him and at Beth

“If you two want to get going that’s okay” she assured them “I’ll stay here with Clint.”

“No! We’re not going to leave you…” Beth couldn’t imagine abandoning her sister with everything that was happening around them and, despite her feelings about Clint, leaving the man in this state was sheer cruelty. “But we have to do something.”

“Leave us for a few minutes” Sara said, knowing what she had to try “we need to be alone.”

Both Bucky and Beth looked at her uncertainly

“He could be dangerous” Bucky warned her

“I know, but he doesn’t fully trust you yet…” she looked at Beth “and you’re not his favourite person right now.  It might be safer if it’s just me and him.”

Beth was still getting used to this new confidence that her little sister was showing, but somehow it comforted and assured her.  The idea of leaving Sara alone with this man, even for a short time, was still frightening; but it felt like she knew what she was doing.  Beth put her hand on Bucky’s arm and noticed that this time he didn’t flinch from her touch.

“Let’s give them some space” she said quietly.

As the bathroom door closed, Sara knelt in the corner opposite the one where Clint was curled up; trying to reach his mind.  It was like a thunderstorm with flashes of disturbing, terrifying, images; thankfully gone before she could fully register them.  The churning, sick, feeling in her stomach reminding her of the time flying home from Los Angeles when the plane had passed through heavy turbulence.

_Clint? Clint, can you hear me?_

This was a new voice in the cacophony of shouts, curses, screams and laughter in his head; soft but insistent.  It was new, but also familiar; promising warmth, safety, a touch that didn’t make him want to throw up

“Mommy? ‘at you?” he mumbled through his tears

_Clint, I need you to look at me.  Please? Can you do that?_

Slowly he shuffled around to face the comforting voice.  This didn’t look like one of the bathrooms at the orphanage, or the cellar the Ten Rings had held him in.  A woman in jeans and a clean white blouse knelt across from him, long golden-red hair spilling over her shoulder. Why was she here? Wasn’t he running away from someone like her? Or had he killed her too, and she was one of the ghosts ripping him to shreds?

_Clint, do you know me?_

Clint stared at her, caught between past and present; unsure which was which.  He could see her in a long pale blue evening dress, a dark stain spreading across it. Oh, Christ! He had killed her! She was another ghost come to accuse him.  Why would he have done that to someone so young and lovely? Had she been a target? Daughter of the wrong politician or gang boss?  When he was Ronin, he wouldn’t have had any qualms if the price was right; maybe just regret not getting the chance to fuck her first.  Wait… it wasn’t blood, he remembered the dog jumping up; the wineglass dropping as she shrieked in amused surprise, Lucky standing on the broken stem…

“S’ra?”

Was she really here? He could hear her voice but her lips weren’t moving.  Maybe this was another part of the torture; reminding him there’d once been someone who loved him and never tried to hurt him, someone they were never going to let him have again.  Laura must have loved him surely? If she had, they’d stolen that from him along with everything else; leaving screams and blood in her place.  Were they going to do that with Sara too?

He huddled further back into the corner. 

“Don’ wan’ hurt you” he mumbled.

Sara inched forward on her knees, showing him a small white box

_It’s okay, no-one’s going to hurt me or you.  I just want to put your hearing aids in, so we can talk; will you let me do that?_

Hearing aids?  Other memories came crashing back, the concussion grenade on that training exercise; rolling on the ground with his ears bleeding, feeling his screams but unable to hear them, Fury spelling out the conditions for his continued service, sitting on Sara’s bed showing her how they worked and how to put them in.  She’d enjoyed doing that for him; one of their silly, intimate, little morning rituals.

He nodded dumbly, still not certain how he could hear her voice; was it Tony who told him she had some special gift, or was it her?

Sara approached him slowly and carefully, still on her knees, like you would with a wounded animal you were trying to help.  The small, clear, soft plastic buds of the hearing aids visible in her hand.

Clint shuddered involuntarily at her touch on his face; expecting her tender smile to turn into ‘Uncle’ Joey’s gap-toothed grin, or Sgt Rooney’s smirk as they flipped him onto his stomach and Cpl Haus yanked his jeans down to his knees.

He clenched his teeth at the feel of the buds slipping gently into place, anticipating a tidal wave of sound to assault him, but the noises of the world outside were soft and almost comforting as they overlaid the clamour within; water dripping from the shower faucet, TV noises from a nearby room, the distant hum of traffic.

“Can you hear me?” Sara asked, still holding his head and looking into his eyes.  The confusion and distraction was still there but he seemed to be regaining some awareness of where he was

“Sara…?” It was little more than a whisper, Clint was unconvinced this wasn’t some new part of the nightmare.

“I’m here… you’re safe…” she assured him, putting her arms about him.  For once he didn’t try to resist or shy away from the contact, instead he fell forward into her embrace and she had to brace her back against the bath as his weight shifted onto her.

“I’m not safe… you’re not safe…” he sobbed “I’m losing it, baby, I can’t hold it together any longer and I’m scared what I might do when I break…”

He looked up at her, his face streaked with tears and snot

“You gotta leave, Sara.  Leave me behind…” he begged her “Bucky’ll keep you safe for a while.  Get to Tony… find Steve… there’s nothin’ left of me…  nothin’ at all…”

“No!” she held him close, cradling his head against her shoulder “I’m not going to let you slip away from me, not again.  I’m not going to let them win…”

“They’ve won anyway” he moaned “I’m done… just want it over…  Ain’t nothin’ can fix me.”

Sara felt the apprehension solidify like a hard, sour, knot in her stomach.  She barely comprehended the meaning of the enigmatic clues Ronin gave her in their dreamtime encounters, but Clint was out of time.  If something couldn’t be done he was going to vanish again.  This time she knew it would be for a solitary appointment with a bullet.

“There might… there might be something…” She turned his face to look at her; his eyes dull and defeated.  Sara understood this would be her only chance “Do you trust me?”

###

“Why are you doing this?” gasped Corben “I followed instructions; an unsatisfactory test subject has to be eliminated.”

“Of course you did” The tall, dark-haired man with the clipped English accent picked up the snow globe from Dr Corben’s desk and shook it gently “but instructions have to be tempered with a degree of strategic sense; especially when the ‘unsatisfactory’ subject is the cousin of Baron von Strucker.”

“Von Strucker!” Corben’s eyes widened “I didn’t realise…”

“No, you didn’t; despite that information being present to anyone prepared to examine the full record of the case.  Very sloppy on your part.” Mr Bakshi placed the snow globe back down on the desk and nodded to the two men standing behind the doctor “Such incompetence cannot be tolerated in our organisation.”

“Please!” begged Corben as he was pushed back into his chair and a cord looped round his neck “I… I’m loyal to HYDRA… I can still be of service.”

“Possibly,” replied Bakshi, examining his fingernails, “but Dr Whitehall thinks it more important to send a message of goodwill to the Baron. Politics, you know how it goes…”


	18. Guest House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One man’s story ends and another begins as the enigmatic Ronin becomes Sara’s gateway to the heart of Clint’s madness.  
> Beth and Bucky silently explore their doubts, slowing drawing towards each other, as Sara enters a world of nightmares.  
> Aided by a man who should be dead, Sara discovers the monstrous secret at the heart of the Guest House and the heart of her own power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> Horror and intense emotion  
> Reviews and comments welcome

It was night and the sound of thunder rolled ever closer, or was it artillery fire? Sara couldn’t tell, but there were red flashes in the distant hills and she could hear voices, men’s voices; harsh and aggressive, invisible in the dark.  She ducked down behind a crumbling wall as trucks growled past on the dirt road; uncertain what the rules were in this dream world, or even if it truly was a dream and not some strange reality halfway between sleep and waking.

Ronin was on his knees; his wrists and ankles roughly pulled back and tied behind the solid post that supported what remained of the shanty’s roof.  Secured so he couldn’t rise, the strain on joints and muscles visible in the grey pallor of pain under his tan.  He lifted his head slowly as he heard Sara enter; there was blood and bruises on his face, one eye swollen half shut.

“Lovely Sara…. shouldn’t be here…” he croaked, his lips dry and cracked “Not safe before… dangerous now…”

She had water with her, although she couldn’t remember from where.  Sara held the bottle to his lips so he could drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he thirstily gulped it down. Ronin rested his forehead against hers, his skin hot and clammy

“Shouldn’t be here…” he repeated, his breathing hoarse and uneven “It’s the end… end for Lonely Ronin… end for Lovely Sara if she stays…”

“Let me help” she insisted, trying to loosen the ropes binding his wrists and ankles; the knots were solid and unresponsive “I can’t leave you here…”

“No! You gotta run…” he tried to push her back with his shoulder “Ronin’s a dead man… always has been… just waiting for it to be over…”

“Please, I have to try…” She couldn’t let this happen, the fire in him was still there but he seemed subdued, resigned “I can’t abandon you”

He shook his head

“Can’t take the hurt away any more… goes too deep…” Ronin looked at her, the passion and anger flaring in his eyes for a moment “He doesn’t like the game… make them stop…”

Sara knew there was nothing more she could do for this dangerous, beautiful, man who haunted her nights and the pain of it tore at her heart.  The harsh voices in the night were drawing closer and she had to go.  She blinked her eyes against the sting of tears and stroked his head

“Ronin…” she whispered, helplessly.  He leaned his head against her hand

“Find the other Dead Man… he’ll point the way…” Ronin swallowed hard, speaking seemed to be causing him more pain “Give ‘em back their voice…”

The voices were right outside the door, arguing about something; Ronin looked at her with an infinite, hungry longing

“One last kiss for poor Ronin, before the dark?” he pleaded “Dying don’t scare me if I know you love me…”

Sara took his face in her hands, feeling her cheeks wet as she stared into his sad grey eyes for the last time

“I love you, Ronin…” she murmured “I always will…”

His mouth tasted of salt and iron as Sara kissed him with all the passion and fire she could summon.  Ronin strained against the bonds that held him firm, all his ferocious vitality focussed in this final kiss.  Her head spun with the intensity of the sensation and she clutched at his shoulders to stop herself falling, but he slipped from her grasp as the darkness overtook them and she fell into a silent void.

###

The warmth of Beth’s hand stirred a deep memory in Bucky’s mind: he was only a boy, scarcely a teenager, watching a movie in a theatre that smelled of tobacco smoke and dusty velvet; feeling a girl’s hand tentatively brush his for the first time.  He couldn’t recall her face, just the smell, the touch and a sense of excited apprehension as he stood on the threshold of a new world.  He knew that Beth held on to him just for comfort but the sensation he felt was the same.

Beth stared at the closed bedroom door.  Sara and Clint had been in there almost an hour without a sound.  The bland, sterile motel sitting room reminded her of the hospital lounge where they’d waited to hear if Mom and Dad were going to make it.  She kept expecting the door to open and a solemn-faced surgeon to emerge, shaking his head.

What Sara said she was going to try sounded like witchcraft; going ‘in’ to Clint’s mind to find the memories S.H.I.E.L.D. were supposed to have erased, but which Sara thought were still in there, locked in the darkest recesses of his psyche.  It seemed insane and dangerous, but Sara thought it was Clint’s only way of avoiding complete breakdown.  Clint had sat there, dull eyed and barely responsive, while she explained this.  Seeing him like that, the only alternative appeared to involve leaving a loaded gun in front of him on the table and the three of them going for a walk.

Bucky thought it might be possible.  His HYDRA handlers had tried to wipe his memories away with electroshock and other crude conditioning techniques, but the fragments of James Barnes kept surfacing and slowly coalescing like a shredded sponge, albeit mixed with the alien shards of the Winter Soldier.  It was possible that even if Clint’s real memories could be recovered he would remain in this state; but Sara was emphatic he deserved to know who he really was, and remember his family, regardless of the consequences.  He found that hard to disagree with.

Beth saw Bucky looking down at his hand in hers, a strange expression on his face.  After all he’d been through, perhaps this was making him ill at ease; she shouldn’t be so intrusive.

“I’m sorry” she said, starting to take her hand away “I just needed someone to hold on to…”

His hand closed around hers gently, keeping it in place.  He looked at her with the faintest hint of a smile.

“So do I” he said

###

Was she falling? In this absolute blackness and silence, it was impossible to tell if the motion was hers, or currents in the darkness ebbing and flowing; carrying her in one direction and then another.  The sound was little more than distant whispering at first, becoming louder, forming voices until she clenched her fists to her ears; trying to stem the assault of screams, shouts and cries.  She couldn’t let them overwhelm her. If she got lost here, the way back could never be found.  She had to listen, pierce through the labyrinth of noise, and find the clue that led to the monster within.

Sara couldn’t make out the words, the storm of voices too great to distinguish one from another; but all of them resonated with terror and pain, a choir of insanity echoing in her skull that she dare not surrender to.  Suddenly they stopped, and the silence overwhelmed her again.  If she was falling, she was falling faster or the darkness was carrying her with greater speed.  The dry whispering began again, this time a single voice; a solitary phrase of anguish from the cantata of pain

“Let me die, let me die, let me die, please let me die…”

The voice was unknown to her, a man in agony of soul and spirit; Sara knew with utter certainty this was the beacon summoning her to the heart of the nightmare.  The futile, desperate, begging made her want to weep but she concentrated all her attention on it, allowing the man’s pain to be the lifeline she clung to as the darkness twisted and spun around her…

There was a sense of being deep underground, the walls grey and cold.  The man lay in a hospital bed surrounded by monitors and drips, his head bandaged; eyes half open and foggy with pain as he muttered those words over and over again, a plea for ending that none of the medical personnel in the room seemed inclined to heed.

How could none of them see her?  She stood at the foot of the man’s bed in that blue evening gown she’d worn at the gallery party where her life collided with Clint’s and the madness began, incongruous and out of place in this ugly, institutional room.  Only the man on the bed saw her and his voice stilled as he smiled

“You came…  I never believed….” It was little more than a whisper, full of hope and relief “I didn’t think you would be so beautiful…”

_I’m not here for you, I’m sorry_

She could feel his agony and despair flooding back

“But I’m dead, you have to take me…” he begged “It’s not my fault they won’t let me die… I want to be dead…”

_I am not Death, I am She Who Gives Voice to the Dead. I am the Oracle_

The words came through her, not from her.  The voice her own but full of ancient power.  Behind the pain in the man’s eyes she could see the sudden glint of understanding

“You’re here for them?”  his voice was louder and stronger and one of the nurses checking the monitors turned her head “To stop them being killed again?”

I _have to find Clint, to make this stop.  It will kill him if I don’t_

“The room with the Spider” he spoke rapidly, urgently “He doesn’t like the game, it hurts… make it stop!”

“He’s having an episode” the first nurse turned to her companion as she went over to the drugs cabinet and took out a vial “Call Dr. Brooker.”

“Make it stop!” the man repeated, pulling at the restraints holding him to the bed, his voice rising to a shout and then a scream “Make it stop! Make it stop! MAKE THEM STOP!”

“Calm down, Agent Coulson” the first nurse said gently as she approached him with the hypodermic syringe “This will make you feel a lot better.”

She moved through corridors lined with racks and trolleys, feeling the pulse of the living rock behind the roughly finished concrete surfacing; medical and military staff walking past, oblivious to her presence.  The room with the Spider? That was helpful, just once it would be nice if the unconscious would speak in terms of ‘second left and straight ahead’. Sara stopped and tried to concentrate again, feeling for the mind within the mind; the real Clint trapped in this hell of false memory.  One of the books Bruce lent her had been his own treasured copy of the Tibetan Book of The Dead, its descriptions of the states of illusion the mind passed through in the spaces between life and death felt more real here than any bland psychological terms.

The whispering started again, children’s voices this time, dry and distant; rhythmically repeating that rhyme that always creeped her out as a child.  She’d heard it recently, where?

_Incey Wincey Spider_

_Climbed up the spout…_

Under the whispering, another voice; faint, tremulous, pleading like the other man

“Please… I don’ wanna play any more… hurts…. stoppit… please… it hurts…. I don’ wann’ play…”

Clint’s voice, begging like a frightened child; razor tipped fingers of fear clawed at her insides, another voice inside her urging her to turn back, not to see, to escape while she still had the chance to run. ‘Remember the tale of Bluebeard’s wives’ it seemed to tell her.

_Down came the rain_

_And washed the spider out…_

The whispers were faster, harsher, like insects rustling in fallen leaves; Sara followed the pull of the begging, crying, voice.  A cold foetid breeze stirred in her hair and clothes as she drew nearer to a set of double doors; the voice louder, stronger in her mind

“Stoppit…. Please, it hurts… stoppit… don’ make me play ‘ny mo’… please… stoppit…”

She paused at the doors, summoning up the courage to pass through; the inner warning echoing in her head.

_I am the Oracle_ , the ancient voice inside her answered _I have come to give the dead back their voice_

Sara pushed through the doors, the icy foetid blast of air in her face failing to deter her, and entered the heart of the nightmare.

_Out came the sun_

_And dried up the rain…_

The space felt cavernous, the slightest sound echoing into darkness, surely too big for the purpose at hand?  In a distant pool of light, she could see an operating table with machines around it, hear a persistent metallic chittering that counterpointed Clint’s continued, plaintive, crying

“Please… don’ take ‘em…. wasn’t my fault… don’ do this, it hurts… please…”

What she saw as she came closer almost sent her screaming from the room.  Clint was strapped to the operating table, immobilised by some anaesthetic drip that left him fully conscious and capable of speech.  From the eyebrow ridges upwards, the entire top half of his skull had been removed and some infernal robotic device hovered over his exposed brain; multiple, needle-like probes flickering over the surface at incredible speed, like his mind was being unstitched and resewn in front of her eyes.  Electrical impulses sparked across and within the tissue like tiny lightning flashes while gowned and masked doctors impassively adjusted the speed and calibration of the machine.

From behind the window of the observation gallery above, the solitary figure of Director Fury watched with an unreadable expression on his face. 

_You knew it was wrong, that’s why you forced yourself to witness it…_

Clint’s eyes darted about, panicked and confused, unable to make sense of what was being done to him; his words slurring together into an incoherent low wailing.  He couldn’t see her but she could feel him somehow aware of a presence he semi-recognised. 

“Mommmy?” it came out as a heart-breaking, despairing, whine “Mommy, help me… don’ like inc’y w’ncey… ‘s hurting me…”

Sara looked up and this time she screamed.  What crouched over Clint’s head was no longer a machine but a monstrous, spider like, thing.  No terrestrial spider had that many legs; acid tipped chitinous spikes driving deep into his memory centres as venom dripped down onto his brain from the glistening mandibles.  Scores of multi-faceted eyes turned in her direction and she heard a crackling, static-like, alien voice within her head

_Oracle, you have failed.  What is left belongs to Us_

Sara could see it gathering within her, infinite sparks of brightness crystallising together in a point of vibrant luminosity deep within her belly; growing, intensifying, forcing its way up past her diaphragm and into her throat.

_You are wrong.  I bring the Clear Light. I return the voice of the Dead_

It wasn’t a scream that broke from her lips this time but a light beyond the capacity of eyesight, consuming her and everything it touched with a brilliance so fierce it defied description, transcending any merely human concept of light or darkness; something neither and both, terrible of purpose and intent.

_Incey Wincey Spider_

_Went up the spout again._

Her eyes opened. It was daylight outside; the light filtering into the motel bedroom tinged lime green and orange from the curtains.  Clint’s head still lay cradled in her lap, and he breathed softly with the rhythm of natural sleep.  She could sense the change, like the heaviness in the air before a thunderstorm.

“Clint, wake up” She shook his shoulder gently

“Jus’ five mo’ min’s” he mumbled indistinctly “Kids won’ be up f’r ages”

“Clint, you have to wake up” she insisted.  He growled with amused irritation

“Phil ain’t picking me up till ten, honey…” he yawned and rubbed his eyes “had the craziest fucking dreams…”

He paused, barely awake but sensing something strange.  Still attuned to his mind, Sara could see the shifting currents as memories flooded back into place.  It was like watching speeded up footage of continental drift; the fractured landmasses of his consciousness colliding and reconnecting.  He looked up at her, puzzled, still caught in a state of transition

“Laura…?”

Clint stared at her for a moment, in bewildered silence, the expression in his eyes changing as the full force of realisation took over.  He buried his face in her lap with a wordless howl of anguish as his body began to shake with the agony of grief.


	19. Will the real Clint Barton please stand up?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Clint deals with his regained memories and what that may mean for his relationship with Sara; Bucky and Beth’s connection deepens and the Winter Soldier realises he must find the man with the shield if he’s to come to terms with his own past.  
> A welcome reunion for Phil Coulson’s team may not be all that it seems when Grant Ward re-joins the fold.  
> To discover the missing pieces of what happened in the Guest House, Clint decides to seek out the man he thought was dead because of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> Reviews and comments welcome

He’d promised Laura he was going to give up smoking.  Her dad died of lung cancer at an early age and she didn’t want their children to have to go through that.  Seems like S.H.I.E.L.D. decided their Clint should be a non-smoker; sensible choice, if you’re going to invest that much effort in your favourite killing machine you want it to last.  After nearly two years of withdrawal, the nicotine rush made his head spin and he took another long draw.  If Sara was surprised to see him with a cigarette she’d not shown it. 

“I was gonna buy Coop a bow for his birthday,” he said at last “teach him to shoot like his old man.  I can’t stop wondering what he musta thought when he saw me there… if he realised…” 

His voice faltered and broke.  Sara put her arms around him and drew his head down to her shoulder, silently stroking his hair until this fit of crying came to an end.

He had been a good dad, and a good husband.  He’d loved them with all his heart and they loved him in return; trusting and caring for him, running towards him with smiles and kisses when he came home from another ‘long-haul flight’.  Why did S.H.I.E.L.D. steal that from him?  Didn’t Fury trust him to be strong enough to cope with the truth, or were they only concerned with keeping an asset intact?  There wasn’t even a grave he could visit.  Maria Hill told Sara the bodies were secretly cremated and the ashes dispersed.  S.H.I.E.L.D. had disposed of his wife and children like they were garbage.  All he had left was the woman who held him and she’d fallen in love with a different man. How was she going to cope with this wounded stranger in her arms?

“Would you like to be alone for a little while…?”  she asked

Chances for real privacy were rare as they hopped from motel to ratty motel on this apparently aimless circuit of back roads, but it was obvious to her that Clint needed a lot of space to deal with his grief and anger.  He remained withdrawn and silent but this was the retreat of a man dealing with the trauma of what had been stolen from him; trying to understand his place in the world. 

Clint shook his head and took hold of her hand

“I can’t stop loving you…  but I still love her… I…  I’m sorry…” his voice shook “It… it feels like I’m betraying you both…”

“I’m always going to be here for you, Clint” she assured him “and I want you to keep loving them always, to remember them… they deserve that.  You deserve it…”

He was silent for a long time, holding her without a word, feeling the comfort of her presence. 

“I need you, Sara; and I love you more than I know how to say, but…” he paused and Sara’s heart pounded in apprehension, nervous of what he was going to say next “You fell in love with another man; I’m not that guy anymore and I don’t know if you can love who I really am…”

“Let me have the chance to find that out, then.” Sara said quietly “I understand that things can never be the same between us, and that you need a lot of space and time; but I’m told that you were a very kind, generous, loving man and I want to get to know him when you’re ready to let me.”

“Tasha told you that, didn’t she?” Sara noticed the hesitation before he spoke the name “I’m grateful she looked after you, but I can’t forgive her.  She shoulda told me… I had a right to know…”

He could feel the tears coming again and curled up on the bed with his head in Sara’s lap.

“I miss ‘em, baby…” he sobbed “Oh God, Sara, I miss ‘em so much…”

###

“What did you feel, when you first saw me?”

Beth found it refreshing, the way Bucky never bothered with small talk; his words went straight to the heart of the matter.  After years of dancing round the trivia of office buzzwords and dinner-party politeness, this directness had an honest, undisguised quality; a genuine attempt to communicate.  She smiled, an expression that seemed to be coming to her more naturally these days.  Despite the strangeness and danger she felt oddly alive, a feeling she hadn’t experienced since the day the sky had torn open over Manhattan and creatures from another world came pouring through. 

“Terrified at first, to be honest…” she replied, then paused “but also sad, you seemed lost… like you didn’t know who you were or what you were doing. Part of me wanted to help you…”

“I’m still not sure of either…” Bucky admitted “but I’m grateful you wanted to help… that you’re trying to…”

He had to find Steve and these people knew him; was that the only reason he stayed with them, or was there some bond forming with this dark-haired woman trying to cope with the truth of her own identity?  She wasn’t like any of the women he could dimly remember from the time before; composed, slightly distant but with a warmth she seemed barely conscious of.

“I’m not sure how much help I’m being” Beth said, sitting down beside him on the couch “We’re just running around in circles at the moment…”

She looked over at the closed bedroom door.  Sara and Clint had been in there for most of the day as her little sister tried to help the man deal with the tidal wave of memories and emotions flooding back into him.  Beth could feel it herself, like a fist clenched around her stomach and squeezing incessantly.  Despite her continued reservations about Clint it was impossible not to have compassion for him. 

“…I’ll speak to Sara when she’s ready, get her to call Stark; we need to make some sort of plan.”

He’d been puzzled the first time they mentioned Stark, thinking that Howard couldn’t still be alive after all this time, but he soon realised this was Stark’s son; a man called Tony who’d inherited his father’s genius and sarcasm along with his immense wealth.  Steve would either be with this Tony Stark or he would know how to find him.  Despite his need, the thought of encountering Steve again…

He reached over and took Beth’s hand

“It scares me…” he turned to look at her and she could see the anxiety in his eyes “I have to see him, but after all this… what I am…”

She put her other hand on his

“It’s what they made you, not what you are” Beth remembered the way Steve Rogers had acted like a big brother towards Sara, sublimating his own obvious feelings for her into a protective caring; keeping her as safe as he could from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s attempts at intrusion “He’s a good man and you’re his oldest friend… he’ll understand.”

Acting on an impulse, Beth kissed him.  Just a gentle brush of her lips on his; a tiny expression of an intimacy she felt so rarely but that this enigmatic man stirred in her.  He didn’t flinch away as she expected, his face registering surprise but not displeasure

“Why…?” he asked.  Her lips tasted faintly of peppermint and a memory stirred of a brown-eyed girl in a park, kissing him like that and calling him ‘sweet’.

“Because you look like you needed it” she replied, with a hint of shyness “and because I wanted to…”

Bucky leaned forward and kissed her back.  He wanted to as well…

###

It was a small victory, having Ward back, but in the context of everything that had happened even the tiniest advantage mattered to Coulson.  S.H.I.E.L.D. was being labelled a terrorist organisation, the Hub in the hands of the U.S Air Force; rival agencies gathered round like hyenas, picking what they could from the remains.  The news Ward brought with him was bad, Garrett on the loose, Victoria Hand dead; the raid on the Fridge releasing dangerous technology and individuals to add to the chaos.  Having one of his people home and safe felt good, though; even if home was now this former SSR base he was still trying to come to terms with, one of Fury’s many secrets that had stayed firmly off book. 

Coulson looked up as the young agent came into his office; Jemma had cleaned up his injuries but the man’s face was still badly bruised and he carried his left arm awkwardly.

“You should be resting” Coulson said quietly. Ward had been beaten and tortured for days before he managed to escape; by men Phil had once thought were loyal dependable agents.

“That’s what I told him” May said sharply “but…”

“Garrett’s on the hunt” Ward interrupted “I found that out before I got away, an unindexed Gifted woman the Avengers were protecting.”

Coulson glanced at May.  That sounded like Stark’s doing.  Even when working with them, the billionaire had never trusted S.H.I.E.L.D., always been vocal about his misgivings.  Perhaps if they’d paid more attention…

He dismissed the thought, hindsight was a pointless luxury.

“What do you know about her?” he asked.  Gifted persons were always a headache; even if not hostile or ill-intentioned the random, often uncontrolled, nature of their abilities only caused problems.

“She’s something we used to think was impossible” Ward replied, looking at the two senior agents carefully “A true telepath…”

Both of them looked genuinely surprised he noted; Garrett was right, HYDRA’s experiment had been disguised well, using the super-soldier experiments to cover the genetic manipulations intended to enhance and augment latent psi ability.  Samuel and Elizabeth Wolfe’s experiment had succeeded beyond their expectations; if only that A.I.M. cell hadn’t taken their refusal to defect so badly, they might still have been overseeing it.

“…the girl’s name is Sara Wolfe, although that’s a pseudonym her grandfather adopted.  The family’s real name is von Strucker”

“As in Dr von Strucker?” The head of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s European Research and Development Division was still unaccounted for.  Hearing the name in these circumstances gave Coulson a very uncomfortable feeling.

“As in Baron von Strucker” Ward corrected him. Coulson would have found out sooner or later anyway, letting this little bit of intel slip would only help what Garrett had planned “One of the Heads of HYDRA”

“Great!” The exasperation in May’s voice was unmistakable “This just keeps getting better, anything else?”

“She was last sighted in the company of the Winter Soldier” said Ward, enjoying the way Coulson and May tried to avoid audibly responding to that shock “Garrett thinks he’s trying to get her to Europe, to join her beloved cousin Wolfgang.  He’d rather keep that asset on home turf.”

“HYDRA infighting already?” Coulson mused, keeping his racing thoughts under control “We need to secure her, if she’s what you say then we can’t let her fall into their hands.”

“She is, believe me!” Ward replied grimly “Garrett calls her the Oracle.”

Coulson snapped his pen in two…

“So, what was all that about?” May asked, after Ward had left the office “I’ve never seen you look that scared before; not even with all that TAHITI business.”

“I heard that name before” Coulson said, glumly looking at the two pieces of his favourite pen.  It was vintage, an SSR original “In the Guest House; a dream or a hallucination, I don’t know which…”

May sighed and shook her head, as she continued to run the search on her tablet.  Every time she thought things couldn’t get stranger, life proved her wrong; now they had a rumoured telepath, a mythical super-assassin and Coulson having flashbacks to whatever happened in that bunker.

“You must have heard it somewhere else and incorporated it” she insisted “You’ve admitted everything that happened there is still vague”

“Vague, yes” he admitted “But I remember that; she called herself the Oracle, the Speaker for the Dead.  She was beautiful; hair like fire and eyes like emeralds…”

May stared down at the pictures her search had uncovered and sighed again; she might as well give up feeling surprised about anything nowadays.  She turned the tablet for Coulson to see.

“Something like this?” she asked

“That’s her” Coulson exclaimed in disbelief “It’s the same girl”

“Well then, you’ll love this” said May with a dry, humourless smile “Apparently, she’s Clint Barton’s girlfriend.”

###

Clint nodded quietly, listening to what Beth proposed.  He had to admit it made sense, they’d been running, he’d been running, long enough and it was time to act while they still had options available to them.  He’d wanted to keep a distance from Tony for as long as possible. He was high profile, a major target in his own right, and could attract unwanted attention if they weren’t careful; however, they needed the resources and intelligence that Stark could provide them with and it might just be the case that he would need them.  S.H.I.E.L.D., or whatever was let of it, had long forfeited his loyalty and trust, but he owed a debt to Tony.  The man had protected and cared for Sara like a father, kept his calls a secret while giving him all the help and information Clint was prepared to accept without compromising either of them.

He owed Steve and Bruce big time as well; for all they’d done for Sara in his absence.  Part of him had hoped that Sara could move on, forget about him; maybe even end up with Steve.  The guy was crazy about her, that was obvious, but too much of a good-guy to take advantage of a vulnerable young woman. 

_Natasha was there for her as well_ a treacherous little voice kept reminding him, but that wound was still raw and bleeding; he couldn’t follow that thought through, not yet…

Clint looked over at Bucky, the man appeared anxious, thoughtful; his brows furrowed as he contemplated the possibility of encountering Steve again under very different circumstances.  He recalled how Steve had spoken about his friend, and the pain and loss still very fresh in his mind and heart.  It must have shattered his world to see him again, to see what had been done to him.  Both men needed answers that only the other could provide.

“You okay with this, Bucky?” he asked “It’s kinda your call…”

“It has to be done” Bucky replied “We can’t keep running forever.”

“I’ll call Tony, see what he has to say” Sara said, looking over at Clint “what about you…?”

“There’s someone I need to track down” Clint said quietly “Someone’s who’s got answers I need.”

###

“Fitz! It’s three in the morning” Coulson stared bleary eyed at the young man who’s incessant knocking had finally woken him from the first unbroken sleep he’d been having for days “This had better be good.”

“We picked up a signal sir, an unusual one.” Fitz’s initial enthusiasm beginning to wane at the distinctly grumpy expression on his boss’s face.

“Please tell me it’s HYDRA’s unconditional surrender” said Coulson “otherwise I’m not going to be happy.”

“Err… No, I’m afraid not” admitted Fitz “But I still thought you might want to hear it…”

“Well, seeing as I’m up” Coulson glared at him and grabbed his dressing gown…

“So, what am I listening for?” he asked once they arrived in the tech lab. “Please use short words”

Fitz explained as succinctly as possible.  He’d set up a serious of algorithms to scan all known S.H.I.E.L.D. communications frequencies to try and detect any communications that might help them track HYDRA activity or locate any surviving agents who might be trying to establish contact.  It was a wide sweep, including the rarely used short-wave emergency frequencies; retained for use in case of global disaster or extinction level event.  All channels were dark, except for one of the emergency frequencies where Fitz had located…

“That!” he said triumphantly, turning up the sound so the dots and dashes were clearly audible “Morse code!”

“I know what it is” snapped Coulson.  Morse code was part of an agent’s training, of course, but no-one except the odd specialist had seriously used it for years. The odd specialist…

“What’s it saying?” he asked urgently.  Fitz’s face went bright red

“I think it’s some sort of code, three words over and over again” he said uncomfortably “It just says ‘Caw Caw Motherfucker’”

Coulson wasn’t sure what he was feeling; elation? Apprehension? Was there an in-between state – apprelation? He’d not expected to hear that signal ever again.

“It’s not a code” he said eventually “It’s Barton telling me he’s alive, and that he knows I am.”

 

 

 


	20. Meetings and Partings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth and Bucky’s relationship matures and blossoms into passion as they return to New York for a clandestine meeting with Steve Rogers.  
> The two old friends are properly reunited for the first time in 70 years.  
> Clint seeks an answer from Phil Coulson, and final separation from any ties with S.H.I.E.L.D, but what he hears from his former friend and mentor leads to a violent confrontation and a dangerous situation for Sara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> Explicit consensual sex. Swearing. Some violence  
> Reviews and comments welcome

Bucky and Beth arrived at Beth’s apartment in the early afternoon, having parted company with Clint and Sara the previous morning.  The latter couple were heading to a meeting with Clint’s old S.H.I.E.L.D. mentor; some form of final ‘divorce’, the HYDRA intelligence they held in exchange for what was left of S.H.I.E.L.D. letting go of the archer once and for all.  Sara had insisted on going with him, unwilling to allow him to go alone, fearful of his safety and state of mind.  Beth was unhappy about them separating, wishing at least that Sara would come with them to New York, even Clint didn’t seem keen on her following him into potential danger; but Beth was learning the wisdom of not challenging her sister too forcefully on matters where the mental or physical wellbeing of Clint Barton was concerned

_I suppose I ought to be grateful to my HYDRA therapist for teaching me that lesson._

Tom and Jared had been a bit pissy about quite how long she’d been gone for; but the plants were well watered and Tiger was plump and purring, while the mail sat neatly stacked on the hall table so at least they’d kept up their end of the deal.  She owed them a case of good wine and dinner at an organic bistro of their choosing.

Bucky was seated at the kitchen table as she came out of the shower and she couldn’t help but smile as she saw him; sitting with his bionic arm dangling down so Tiger could bat at it with his paw, striking the multiple ginger reflections in the metal banding.  It was incredible how every part of it mimicked the natural movement of skin and muscle. 

“He likes you” she said as she came in, towelling her hair dry. “Usually with strangers, he just sits under the sideboard and spits.”

“I don’t think I had a pet” he looked up at her with a shy smile “Back then they were usually only for rich folks.”

His anxiety about meeting Steve was physically obvious. Steve hadn’t wanted them to meet at Tony’s penthouse, too visible and he intended to keep Bucky’s presence private from everyone else for the time being.  Too many awkward questions would be raised and the Winter Soldier was still the object of an active manhunt.

“Everything’s going to be okay” she assured him, stroking his head “I’ll be here if you need me.”

She bent her head down and kissed him, gently at first but then with a passionate intensity that rose up without expectation or anticipation.  He was on his feet, kissing her back with equal fire as they stumbled towards the bedroom.  Her bathrobe fell to the floor and he stood back for a moment, she was… breath-taking; her skin clear and pale; the curve of her hips demanding the touch of his hand and her full, high, breasts waiting for the caress of his mouth.  He felt a sudden self-consciousness, aware of the ugly scarring where this HYDRA arm was grafted on to his torso. How much of a freak must he look compared to her smooth perfection?

“I…” he hesitated “I can keep my shirt on, if you prefer?”

Beth shook her head and walked towards him, kissing his neck as she began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“I want all of you, James” she murmured “you’ve got nothing you need to hide from me”

The use of the real name he so rarely heard served only to deepen the intimacy and he kissed her again with an urgent lust as she pulled his shirt from his shoulders and drew him towards the bed.

###

His skin was warm with a faint, salty, taste.  The musty smell she’d noticed at their first meeting gone; replaced by a rich, natural, musk.  Bucky groaned gently as her lips traced their way across his chest and she lightly gripped his nipple between her teeth as her hand cupped him between his legs, fingertips flickering and touching; sustaining him on the brink but never quite pushing him over the edge into release.

He'd never been taken by a woman before, not like this; surrendering to her tongue and fingers, allowing his body to be played like a musical instrument.  He raised his hips, spreading his legs; letting her hand between his thighs move where it wanted, crying out as this dark-haired beauty taught him new ways he could be enticed and stimulated.

The sense of his hands on her body made Beth respond in a way she had never done before; the contrast between the rough heat of one and the cool smoothness of the other; flowing over her, teasing, caressing, penetrating, stoking the fire in her belly until it pulsed white-hot.  The sweat bloomed on her skin, gilding it with a subtle sheen in the faint light of the room.  She moved to sit astride him, easing herself down with a soft moan as he stared at her, eyes glazed with lust, breath coming in short, gasping pants.  He wasn’t taking her, she was gifting herself to him without fear or reservation.

He could feel her warm and tight around him; gripping his entire length as she moved her hips with slow, controlled movements, hands splayed out across his chest. Beth cried out with the urgency of her desire as he propped himself up on his bionic arm, his real arm sliding round her waist to pull her in closer as the thrust of his hips matched her own.  Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his mouth to hers as they kissed with fierce, bestial, hunger.

Bucky rolled her onto her back, her legs wrapping around her waist as he fucked her fast and hard, the scream of orgasm building in her throat as his thrusts grew more desperate and she felt his breathing becoming heavy and coarse.  Beth was scarcely aware of his climax, lost in the frenzy of her own, aware only of his deep, growling cry and the convulsive movement of his hips.

They lay together for a long time afterwards, entangled in each other, kissing and caressing; continuing to explore each other in the warm afterglow. 

“We should shower and get dressed” Beth said eventually “Steve’s going to be here just after nine.”

“Is your shower big enough for the two of us?” Bucky asked with a smile, kissing her between the breasts.

###

Steve hadn’t seen Beth for over a year and she felt different to how he remembered.  He’d always considered her uptight and snappish, letting her concern for her sister slide over into an aggressive shrewishness.  He’d thought the events of the past days would have turned her into a neurotic, angry wreck; but the woman who let him in seemed easier in her skin, vaguely apprehensive but almost relaxed.    

“He’s in the sitting room, through there…” she indicated the direction. “I’ll be in the kitchen”

“Thank you” Steve said quietly, carefully stepping around Tiger who sniffed at his shoes with mild feline interest.  Bucky stood up as he entered the room.  Steve had expected, somehow, for him to still be in the combat gear he’d last seen him wearing.  Instead, he was washed, shaved, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt; apart from the longer hair and the metal hand nothing about him had changed except for the haunted look in his eyes.

They looked at each other in silence for a moment; Bucky looking at Steve, trying to fix the loose-floating memories of his friend onto the tall, dark blond, man standing across from him. There was a still healing cut on his cheek, and a faint but noticeable limp as he stepped forward

“Steve…” Bucky began, but whatever he was about to say was lost as Steve threw his arms around him, pulling him into a tight bearhug and burying his face against his neck with a heaving sob.

“Bucky, I’m sorry” he gasped at last “I couldn’t hold on, I’m sorry.  This is all my fault.”

The memory surfaced with startling vividness, perhaps prompted by Steve’s presence; clinging on to the broken panel as the train sped through the mountains, the metal twisting, tearing and finally giving way as he reached for Steve’s outstretched hand.  Bucky remembered a brief surge of hope as their fingers brushed and then plunging backwards into the void, Steve’s despairing cry lost in the noise of the train and the rushing air.

“I fell, Steve.” Bucky said “It just happened, there was nothing you could do…”

He raised his hand and touched Steve’s wounded cheek gently

“I tried to kill you…” he dropped his gaze “I’ve done terrible things…”

“No!” Steve insisted “Bucky, that wasn’t you; that was him, that was what they made him do.”

“I was still the one who pulled the trigger.  I’m not the man you knew, I don’t even know what’s him and what’s me anymore.” Bucky raised his head; looking Steve in the eyes “But when I try to remember, it’s always you that I see.”

“Is that why you came back, why you wanted to see me?” Steve asked

Bucky nodded

“I can’t stay trapped between two people, Steve” he said, almost plaintively “I need to remember who I am, to find out what I can be… I need you…”

“I’m here for you, Bucky, I always will be…” Steve promised, his arms still round his friend “To the end of the line.”

###

Clint slid the flash-drive across the desk.  Coulson picked it up and turned it his fingers.

“Is this everything?”

Clint nodded.  Everything, except for the Project Delphi files on Sara and Beth; those were for Tony and Steve’s eyes only.  He wasn’t prepared to trust anyone else with the truth about the women.

“I imagine you have some questions” Coulson said quietly

“Just one, Why?” responded Clint “Answer that, then I’m done; done with you and done with whatever’s left of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“With Project Pegasus down, the Tesseract taken, everything was in chaos.  We were too late… I was too late.  By the time we got there…”  Coulson’s voice faltered “You can’t blame yourself, Clint.”

“I don’t blame myself, not anymore” Clint stared at his former mentor, eyes cold and unforgiving. “I blame Loki… and I blame you.”

“No one could have predicted…” Coulson began, knowing the weakness of his words as he uttered them.

“Five minutes” Clint said angrily “Five minutes was all it would have taken to place the call and get Laura and the kids moved to a safe house.  I’d been compromised, you knew the risks.  Did we mean so little to you?”

“We made a mistake…” was all Phil could respond. Clint sneered

“Damn right you did! Then Fury had my mind ripped apart to cover it up; threw Laura and my kids away like garbage.” He swallowed hard, forcing the rising grief back; he sure as hell wasn’t going to let himself break down here. “I trusted you, Phil; you knew what they did, what I was going through.  You saw it with your own eyes in that hellhole. Why didn’t you try and help me, or at least tell me you were alive so I didn’t have to blame myself for that as well?”

“I couldn’t, you know that…” Phil said with a deep note of regret “Fury ordered…”

“Yeah, Natasha said the same thing ‘Fury ordered’” behind the anger Coulson saw, and heard, the depth of hurt and betrayal Clint felt. “Reckon you were never really my friends after all.”

And that was the heart of it.  Coulson knew Clint had never really ‘belonged’ to S.H.I.E.L.D.; it was his way of redressing the balance, making some amends and creating a life where he didn’t have to rely on being a killer.  It was what made him such a good, if unpredictable, specialist; you could depend on Clint Barton to do the right thing, regardless of what the orders said. 

If he was called on to make the same choice now, knowing how corrupted S.H.I.E.L.D. had become under HYDRA’s influence, would he? He’d broken the rules before, to save Clint from being tortured to death by the Ten Rings because an internal error had fucked up his cover. What was the difference now?

_The difference now is that the world changed when the sky opened over Manhattan, and we needed men like Hawkeye to help us deal with the New Reality_

Fury had made a choice, and any choice has consequences good and bad; one of those consequences sat across from him right now.  The man he was looking at wasn’t Clint Barton anymore, not even Hawkeye or Ronin, but someone new; unpredictable and dangerous with unknown allegiances, and in the company of a Gifted woman sought by HYDRA for her exceptional abilities. 

It was time for him to make a choice and deal with the consequences.  Barton was staring at him with icy detachment.

“Think that’s all the answer I needed” he said at last, preparing to stand while keeping a cautious eye on Phil “Guess this is goodbye…”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let either you or Miss Wolfe leave” Coulson sounded firm but regretful “The risks are too great, you knew that the moment you walked in here.”

“The hell I did, we had a deal!” snarled Clint, leaping to his feet, his eyes narrowed “You got the HYDRA Intel; now me and Sara are going free and clear”

“That’s not going to happen, Barton!” May’s voice behind him “Sit back down…”

Clint glared at Coulson, breathing deep and slow

“You want me as your enemy, Phil?” his voice steady, cold, dangerous “If you do; May better take me out with her first shot or it’s not gonna end well for anyone in this room.”

“I don’t want you as my enemy Clint” Coulson said “I want you on my side…”

Clint gave a derisive snort of laughter

“Why? So you can rip apart what’s left of me?  S.H.I.E.L.D. lost me when you let Laura and the kids get killed.  I just didn’t realise it because you raped my fucking mind…”

He’d have to take out May first; he knew she had a gun aimed at him but it was always easy to disorient a shooter, even a good one, if you knew what you were doing.  Phil was the real challenge, there were at least half a dozen items within easy reach that his former friend could use to kill or incapacitate him.  The two men stared into each other’s eyes, waiting for the moment when the other would move; this was Peshawar 2002 all over again except this time Ronin was free and on his feet, and there was only one gun aimed at his head.

Clint had sparred with May a few times; he knew some of her moves, she knew some of his.  Let’s see how this dance went.  A disarming move would be the most obvious choice.  He kicked the chair back hard, forcing her to move, and spun in a low crouch; she was moving fast too, but he caught her ankle with his heel sending her sharply off balance.  Clint pounced for the gun she was reaching for; feeling his fingers brush the moulded plastic of the handle when something hit him in the back of the neck and his world went black.

###

Sara was afraid of S.H.I.E.L.D. before, of what they had done and were capable of; now that the organisation had collapsed and all that remained were scattered groups like this struggling for survival, who could tell what lengths they were prepared to go to? They should have gone to New York with Beth and Bucky but Clint was determined, clearly intent on finding at least some sort of closure on his former life, and she wasn’t willing to see him go off on his own again.

Nobody appeared inclined to linger in the break room except for Grant Ward, assigned to babysit her while Clint conducted his business with Coulson and severed his final ties to the remnants of S.H.I.E.L.D. Sara was nervous, uncertain of the wisdom of their choice now that she sat here in this badly furnished room in what looked and smelled like a long-abandoned warehouse.  The girl, Skye, was the only one she’d felt easy round and who seemed inclined to be sympathetic, but she was elsewhere now; conducting some data searches ordered by Clint’s former mentor who seemed to be in charge of this unit. 

Others darted in and out like agitated mice, grabbing snacks and a surreptitious look at the young woman in the dark green dress who sat drinking coffee with the black-clad specialist.

“They’re scared, scared and curious” Ward said as she glanced at another tech scurrying out the door. “They want to see who all the fuss is about but don’t want to get caught looking.”

“In case I turn them to the Dark Side?” Sara felt tired, she just wanted Clint to be finished so they could go but a part of her knew it wasn’t going to be that simple “Is that what I’m supposed to have done with Clint?”

“You’re a telepath, that idea disturbs people; you’ve been seen with the Winter Soldier and your boyfriend is one S.H.I.E.L.D.’s top ten most wanted.” Ward gave a short, sardonic laugh “A lot of people are interested in you, _Miss von Strucker_.”

Even in Ward’s sarcastic tone, it had a certain resonance.  Beth thought they should reclaim the name, that it had been honourable once and the best revenge on their parents and grandfather was to restore that honour.  Her passion about it surprised Sara and although she remained uncertain, her sister’s eagerness could be contagious.  She wished Beth was with them now, missing her strength and growing clarity of purpose.

“Is that all I am then? An Asset?” Sara asked, putting her cup down, as calmly as if she were discussing a client’s priorities “A hostage, or bait?”

“Garrett’s hunting you, I suspect your cousin will be interested in a family reunion” Ward got up to get the coffee jug for a refill “Certain people see your very existence as a threat.  Maybe you and Clint would be wise to consider yourselves our ‘guests’ for the immediate future.”

Sara felt, smelt, that same icy foetor she’d experienced in the Guest House, _Danger_ ; as she opened her mouth to respond they both heard the noises from Coulson’s office.  Ignoring Ward’s warning shout, she ran out into the hallway to see Coulson and May emerging from the room; two men in combat gear dragging Clint’s limp body between them.

“Clint!!!” she screamed.  Coulson turned sharply at the sound of her voice

“Ward! Get her to a room, keep her there!” He shouted before heading off after the men hauling Barton away.

Ward seized Sara by the arm to stop her chasing Coulson and the others.  The moment his hand touched her skin it was like a series of mild electrical shocks. She turned to look at him and caught her breath with a sudden rush of fear; Ward’s face, overshadowed with a stylised vermillion skull, tentacles coiling around his neck and shoulders.  She felt the muzzle of his gun pressed into her side.

“Never try to play poker, _mein Baronin_ ” he smiled coldly “Come with me, now…”


	21. The Oracle at Delphi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint Barton, the hitman known as Ronin, once met a stranger in Pakistan, under difficult circumstances, and made a life-changing decision.  
> Almost 12 years later, Phil Coulson is confronted with the problem of an angry, aggressive, Clint Barton in his detention cells and no explanation for Sara’s whereabouts   
> Grant Ward delivers his prize to a grateful John Garrett  
> Beth begins to worry about her sister’s lack of contact as Bucky and Steve continue to rebuild the bonds of their friendship  
> Skye’s investigation reveals the truth of Grant Ward’s allegiances and the young agent is faced with the choice of obeying Phil Coulson or helping Clint Barton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> Strong language.  
> Reviews and comments welcome

** Peshawar Province, Pakistan, August 2002 **

_He’d had the dream again last night, in the brief moment of sleep he’d been able to catch; the strange, beautiful, girl with golden red hair; always dressed like she’d come from a fancy party.  He couldn’t remember much of this one, but it felt like a parting and he’d woken with the ghost of a kiss on his lips.  At least he’d had the chance to say goodbye to her, if not to Laura…_

Clint grunted slightly in discomfort as they forced him to his knees on the dirt floor.  The cable ties cut into his wrists and he still hurt from the morning ‘interrogation’

Always the same three questions

_“Who do you work for?”_

_“Who are your associates?”_

_“Where’s the money?”_

The leering goon in charge had implied broadly that things would get a bit more ‘creative’ if he didn’t start answering, especially the last question.  Clint figured it would take them another couple of days to get bored and put a bullet in his skull.  He just had to grit his teeth until then.  He might scream but he’d never squeal; that’s why they paid him so well. 

This was supposed to be his last job, one final payday and he could wave goodbye to this life forever and build a new one with Laura.  Looks like it was going to be his last one anyway, but even if he died here the job had been done.  His employer was reliable; the money would be released automatically into his private account and Laura would never need for anything.

_Laura, I’m sorry…_

Someone grabbed his hair and yanked his head back so he had to look at the man sitting on the other side of the room.  Short, sturdy and balding; he looked like a tax auditor, sounded like one too when he opened his mouth. CIA perhaps, or maybe NSA; come to add a bit of waterboarding to the menu.

The man droned on about ‘valuable skill sets’ and ‘useful assets’, like he was recruiting for some pyramid selling scheme.  He stared at the man dully, feeling almost bored, wishing he’d either get to the point or pull out the pliers and carry on with whatever he was here for; except….  Some of the stuff the guy was saying.  Didn’t sound like any agency Clint had ever run across, though there were whispers about one that was the grand-daddy of them all; dealt with the really weird shit that no-one ever heard about.  He’d never paid attention to those stories, if something like that existed he woulda known about it.  Clint had stopped believing in fairy-tales the day daddy knocked out three of his teeth and the tooth-fairy didn’t leave a cent.

Clint started listening to what the man was saying; stuff about ‘protecting people from what they don’t know is out there’ and ‘dealing with threats that can never be acknowledged’.  Sounded like a sure way to get killed but, hell, he was a dead man anyway.  Maybe that’s why Mr Tax Auditor was here.  Dead men had nothing to lose so why not get one to do your killing for you?

Except this Dead Man did have something to lose and maybe, just maybe, there was a way Ronin didn’t have to die in this dusty shithole.  Maybe he could keep his promise to Laura and she didn’t have to spend the rest of her life wondering why he’d abandoned her.

Agent Coulson saw the change in the man’s body language; the subtle shift from ‘just get it over with’ to ‘I’m getting interested’.  He’d been sent here with a simple brief; either bring Ronin in or assist the local security forces in extracting intel.  It was the interrogator’s maxim that ‘everyone talks eventually’. Coulson knew that wasn’t true.  There were some men who’d gone so far down a path that nothing you could do would break them.  The minute the already beaten and bloodied Ronin was dragged in Coulson knew he was looking at one of those men; no expression of fear or hope, just a dogged determination to get to the end.

“My car leaves in five minutes” Coulson said “You can either be in it or stay with these gentlemen and whatever entertainment they have in mind.”

Clint cocked his head and looked carefully at this Agent Coulson; trying, and failing, to get a read on him.  After a moment or two, he made his decision; maybe Laura would get that little place in the country she dreamed of.

“I’m in” he said, cautiously.

The car pulled away down the narrow dirt road.  Clint rubbed his wrists, trying to get some circulation back, staring straight ahead.

“Ronin died back there” Coulson said bluntly “Get any ideas about a come-back tour and what they had planned will seem like a strawberry social.”

“So, if I ain’t Ronin anymore, who am I?” Clint asked

Coulson turned to him with a faint, dry smile

“Who do you want to be?”

Clint glanced at the tattoo on his bicep.  Laura had paid for it, a wedding present; she said he was fierce like a hawk, with eyes like one too.  He looked at Coulson and grinned

“How ‘bout Hawkeye?”

###

“So, you the good cop?” Clint glowered at the young woman through the bars of the cell “Your sweet talk don’t work and it’s a couple of gorillas with nightsticks and cattleprods instead?”

He’d woken up about ten minutes ago, with a foul headache and a fouler temper.  Yelling obscenities and hurling himself against the bars had done nothing but pass the time and give him a sore shoulder.  Eventually this young, dark-haired woman around Sara’s age had appeared.  She seemed kinda out of place in Coulson’s menagerie; not S.H.I.E.L.D. trained by the look of her, leastwise not in any regular way.  Some kinda outsider maybe, was that why Coulson sent her instead of coming himself?

“I’m just the drinks girl…” Skye told him “Juice or water? I’d recommend water, the juice is kinda icky.  I think they buy it cheap in bulk.”

“Water” Clint extended his hand through the gap in the bars then withdrew it, his eyes narrowing in suspicion “You drink first…”

“Trust issues, huh? Can’t say I blame you” Skye opened the bottle and took a swig then offered it back to him “Promise I haven’t drugged the backwash”

Clint took the bottle with a grudging “Thanks” and drained half of it with a single long swallow.  They musta shot him full of dendrotoxin, that always had a dehydrating effect.

Skye took the opportunity to briefly study the man in the cell.  He was smaller than she’d expected, only about 5’8” but with a compact athletic build and powerful shoulders.  He had a handsome, rugged, face; like someone who spend a lot of time outdoors.  If she’d passed him in the street she would have taken him for a farmer or construction worker.  He looked haggard and angry but his eyes were tired.

“Where’s Sara?” he demanded “I want to see her now!”

He saw the expression on Skye’s face and his eyes narrowed again.  He stepped towards the bars and she instinctively backed away despite the solidity of the barrier between them.

“Where is she?” his voice was controlled and dangerous, subtly vibrating with rage “What’s that asshole done? If he’s hurt her…”

“We don’t know where she is” Skye admitted “or Ward, they left toge…”

Clint slammed the bars hard, making her jump.

“THE FUCK SHE LEFT!!!!” he screamed “That fucker’s taken her! Get me the FUCK out of here! RIGHT NOW!!!!”

“Agent Skye!” May’s voice came from the doorway “Coulson wants you, now”

“May!” Clint grabbed hold of the bars, a hint of desperation appearing in his voice “Get me out of here, I can help find Ward, you know I can…”

The glance Agent May gave him might have been sympathy, it was always difficult to tell with her.

“Agent Skye…” she repeated, emphatically

The two women walked along the corridor, Clint’s furious yells following them.  The older agent saw the look on Skye’s face, could guess the question she was about to ask…

“Barton’s a rogue agent, whatever the reason for it…” her face and voice were impassive, May was keeping her own opinion to herself “He’s made it clear he’s got no loyalty to S.H.I.E.L.D. and his recent associates all have high level HYDRA connections.  Coulson can’t afford to take any chances right now.”

“…maybe she’s got some sort of mind control on him?” Fitz was saying as they entered the tactical room “Using him like she’s done with Hawkeye?”

“We still don’t know what her abilities are…” objected Jemma, “or even if she is a genuine telepath, there’s no proof…”

Coulson glanced at the two tech specialists; Jemma retreating behind the safe walls of scepticism, Leo into denial; building an elaborate scenario where Sara Wolfe, or rather von Strucker, was some psychic Mata Hari, seducing and subverting loyal agents. 

“That don’t explain the gun in her ribs; and Garrett wouldn’t have been so interested in her without good reason” said Trip, looking at the CCTV footage of Ward hustling the young woman into the car. 

None of this added up, he thought, remembering the laughing girl he’d met the night he and Garrett stopped over at Stark’s; her unfeigned affection for Barton.  If she was some kinda HYDRA super-psychic why wasn’t she there, working her hoodoo on Stark or Captain America, instead of on the run with a half-crazy former agent?

“Locking him up’s a mistake…” he muttered. Coulson looked up at him

“That’s not the Barton you knew, Trip” he said “It’s not the Barton I knew either; he’s someone else.  Until we can be sure who that is I’m not taking any risks…”

_I should have dug deeper into Ward’s story; but I was just too glad to have him back.  I let sentiment get in the way…_

“…Skye, how did he take it?”

“Badly would be the understatement of the millennium” she told him with an uncertain smile “I agree with Trip…”

“Let me deal with Barton” Coulson interjected sharply “We’ve got footage coming through from the hack into the NSA satellite feeds.  I need you to check for anything connected to the events at the Fridge.”

“Sure thing, AC” she glanced at Trip, both thought he was making a mistake with Barton, but it was the Senior Agent’s call and he wouldn’t take well to any further objections. “What am I looking for?”

Coulson dropped his eyes back to the CCTV footage on the monitor

“Something I hope you’re not going to find…”

###

“Nice job, son!” said Garrett, pouring them both a whiskey “Any problems?”

“None at all” grinned Ward as he accepted the drink “I’d got Coulson so convinced his pet bird had flown over to the other side, he was too busy caging him to notice me leave.”

“So, Coulson’s got Barton in his cells?” mused Garrett “That could work to our advantage…”

He’d been a loyal S.H.I.E.L.D. specialist once; true to the core until they fucked him over in Bosnia and he learned the hard way that loyalty was a one-way street when it suited the intelligence organisations interests. Not that he had any illusions about HYDRA, but at least if you were useful you could rely on them to a degree.  He’d made himself very useful, to the extent that not even Daniel Whitehall guessed at his true intentions, and intended to keep doing so until he made his move. 

That pretty little psychic baroness in the ‘Guest Wing’ could be a problem if he couldn’t win her over; but getting his hands on an asset like Barton? That was a real prize and if he had her, he’d got the right lure to win himself a hawk.

“You think you can bring Barton in?” Ward asked, savouring the whiskey.  It was a fine, smoky, single malt; his old friend and mentor could always be guaranteed to have the best stuff.

“Oh, I’m sure of it…” Garretts eyes were cold above his smile “and I know just the right incentive...”

…For a fleeting moment, Sara thought she was in her bed at home, the morning sunlight tinted a faint green as it filtered through the curtains; then she remembered the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent’s hard eyes and humourless smile, the gun in her side as he pushed her into the car and the sharp jab of the needle in her arm. She sat up with a cry and looked around her.  The room seemed strangely familiar; the austerely elegant décor like that of her mother’s bedroom in the old Park Avenue apartment.

A beautiful, dark-haired, woman in a stylish flowered dress got up from the armchair in the corner of the room and walked towards the bed.

“Good morning, Baroness Sara” the woman said with a gentle, almost affectionate tone “I hope you slept well?”

“Where am I?” gasped Sara, disoriented and afraid; her head still cloudy with the after-effects of the sedative “And who are you?”

“My name’s Raina” the woman in the floral dress smiled at her “And where else would the Oracle be but at Delphi, where she was born?”

###

“AC” Skye’s voice was shaking as she tried to keep control of her emotions “I’ve found what you hoped I wouldn’t…”

Phil looked at her, feeling his heart sink.  He’d wanted to be wrong; that Ward had just signed up with the CIA, or Talbot; maybe even Stark.

“Get the others in here…” he ordered.

They stood around the big screen in the office Coulson had taken as his own, looking at the high-resolution satellite images.  The tall, white, structure codenamed ‘The Fridge’ was clearly visible; a thin plume of black smoke rising from the roof entry and three QuinJets on the landing platform.

Skye glanced anxiously at Coulson, who nodded, and she pressed the zoom button.  The screen showed two dark haired men in black combat gear emerging together, laughing about something.  There could be no mistake.  The picture couldn’t have been any sharper or clearer if the camera was mounted on the building’s roof…

“Ward and Garrett?” Jemma exclaimed in shocked disbelief “That means…”

“It means Victoria Hand is dead” Coulson said, his voice anguished and heavy with a sense of profound betrayal “and John Garrett has Sara von Strucker”

###

“Have you told Stark about me yet?” Bucky asked.  Beth had made food for them before going round to Tom and Jared’s to give them a couple of hours privacy; pasta and meatballs with home-baked bread.  It was the first properly cooked meal he could remember having and the effect was almost intoxicating.  Steve shook his head

“It’s too soon” he told his friend “People are still hunting for the Winter Soldier; until we can prove your story I don’t want to put you at risk of exposure.”

“Proving it’s gonna be hard, even with the files I took” Bucky reminded him “Maybe if I gave myself up…”

“NO!” The vehemence of Steve’s response took them both by surprise; Steve swallowed hard and took a deep breath “You can’t risk that. Too many people want you dead, fewer awkward questions that way.”

“The longer I stay hidden, the harder it’s going to be; for me and Beth” Bucky said “Isn’t there anyone who can…?”

Steve reached across the table and took his friend’s hand

“Peggy’s the only one who’s left, and she’s… she’s” Steve’s voice began to break and there were tears in his eyes “Most days she doesn’t recognise me anymore, Bucky, and… and when she does, she can’t stop crying…”

Bucky got up and put his arms around him

“Christ, Steve… I’m so sorry…”

“I shoulda died in the ice, Buck… I wish I had…” Steve’s shoulders were shaking and he couldn’t hold his grief and pain silent any more “This ain’t our world anymore…  you’re all I got left and I can’t lose you again…”

“Brave little Stevie, what’ve they done to you?” Bucky held his friend close, feeling the tears in his own eyes.  “You’re right, this ain’t our world, so we gotta make a place for ourselves.  We’ll find a way, somehow…”

He’d held him like this many times before, usually after some back-alley beating; Stevie crying at his inability to do anything real against the cruelty and brutality of the world, but never giving up the battle.  Poor kid! He’d never realised then that the worst fights were the ones that came after the physical wounds were healed.  He bent down and kissed the top of his head, the old affectionate gesture to assure him it would be okay in the end.

“We’ll get to the end of the line together, Stevie, you’ll see!”  he patted him on the back “C’mon, let’s do the washing up before Beth gets back!”

They were just drying the dishes when Beth came home; Bucky could see from the expression on her face that something was troubling her and he could guess what it was

“No word from Sara?”

Beth shook her head

“She said she’d let me know the moment they were heading back to New York.” She sat down at the table and pulled out her phone in the futile hope there might have been a text or missed call in the two minutes since she last checked. “Something’s wrong, I know it.  They shouldn’t have gone there…”

“Do you know where ‘there’ is?” Steve asked, putting down the dishtowel.  Like Beth, he would have been happier if Sara and Clint had come back to the city before making the decision to rendezvous with Coulson.  S.H.I.E.L.D. was unforgiving of rogue agents at the best of times; it was foolish of him to head off without any sort of backup, even more foolish to let Sara go with him, but the Clint he’d known had a stubborn streak and that didn’t seem to have changed.

“There was an arranged meeting point, he told me where” Beth said “but I imagine that’s far away from wherever they really are.”

“Give me the details, I’ll see what Stark can do” Steve looked at the two of them, his oldest friend and the woman he was coming to regard as a new one. “Promise me you’ll both keep a low profile for now, I don’t want anything happening to either of you.”

He went through to the living room to call Tony.  Beth stood up and put her arms around Bucky, he held her close, feeling her tremble with anxiety

“Something bad is happening to them, James” she whispered “I know it.”

Bucky knew her better than to waste words on empty assurances

“We’ll find them, I promise” he rested his head against hers “If anyone hurts them, they’ll be sorry they were born.”

###

“Coulson won’t believe me” Clint sat hunched on the bed, staring at the floor “Says he wants the Winter Soldier as ‘proof of good faith’”

Skye looked at him sitting there, red eyed and hoarse from shouting.  He seemed down and dispirited, like he’d run through all the options in his head and couldn’t see any way out of the cage he was in. 

“I ain’t giving Bucky up” he said, more to himself than her “Not for him, not for anyone.  Twelve years I trusted him, thought he trusted me.  Guess that was time wasted.”

“No-one knows who to trust right now” Skye said helplessly “But for what it’s worth, I don’t believe you’re with HYDRA”

“Then get me out of here, please!!!” Clint begged, getting to his feet and approaching the bars “She needs me, I have to help her…”

Coulson was wrong, Skye was sure of that.  Clint Barton might have turned his back on S.H.I.E.L.D. but that didn’t make him the enemy.  He wasn’t fighting for anyone or anything except the woman he loved.

“…she’s all I got left. Please, Skye, get me out of here!”

“You wouldn’t get out of here without a fight” she told him. Coulson had the base on full lockdown, alert to any potential danger in the wake of Ward’s defection “These people are still my friends.  I don’t want them, or you, getting hurt.”

“I understand; we all gotta stick by the folks we love” Clint sat back down on the bed looking lost and bewildered, the hollow despair in his voice made her want to cry.  She couldn’t put her own team in danger, but equally she couldn’t leave him like this; caged by a man who used to be his friend, with his lover in HYDRA’s hands.

“I can’t get you out of here myself” Her voice was steady and clear as she made her decision. Clint looked up at her, a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes “But maybe I can get a message to someone who can?”


	22. Grandma's House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Garrett exercises all his considerable charm to convince Sara that her best interests align with his.  
> From Baron Wolfgang von Strucker’s stronghold in Sokovia, Dr List communicates with Dr Daniel Whitehall regarding the Baron’s own ‘interest’ in his cousins’ whereabouts and wellbeing and Dr Whitehall has some interesting news to impart.  
> Tony Stark presents Phil Coulson with a simple choice; release Clint Barton or face the consequences from the Avengers, in doing so he discovers his friend has been keeping a secret from him  
> Left alone with Brock Rumlow, Sara faces a dangerous and terrifying situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Violence, physical assault; referenced/implied rape  
> Reviews and comments welcome

Sara sat reading in the room that was nothing more than an elegant cell.  Outside the window a bright afternoon sun shone on an alpine landscape; a clever projection to disguise the truth of being deep underground in the bunker once used by Project Delphi, now commandeered to serve as Garrett’s base of operations.  This had been her mother’s quarters, furnished to her own exacting and precise taste, which was why they seemed so familiar.  Elizabeth von Strucker’s stature within HYDRA allowed her to commands such comforts.  Her father’s equally well appointed quarters, further down the hallway, were now being used by John Garrett.

This was where she was born, and probably conceived, the fruition of the design to create a true telepath through selective breeding and genetic manipulation.  A project side-lined when Alexander Pierce took HYDRA’s North American throne; preferring to place his faith in the science of Zola’s algorithm rather than something that smacked more of old-school Nazi occultism.

Her book was a fine 18th century edition of Dante’s Inferno in the original Italian, it seemed appropriate to her situation.  The leather cover embossed with an elaborate coat of arms, marking it as a refugee from the library of the von Strucker family’s castle somewhere in what was now part of Poland.  Clearly in this place, at least, her parents felt no need to hide their true identity.

She looked up as the door opened; Garrett stood there, smiling at her and smoking one of the Nicaraguan cigars he preferred.  They looked and smelled like the ones her father smoked, perhaps there was a stash of them still here.

“Can I come in, Baroness?” He asked, Sara sighed and nodded

“Do I have a choice? And why do you keep calling me that?” she asked “It feels ridiculous”

“It’s your privilege! The von Struckers were Barons of the Holy Roman Empire, every legitimate family member is entitled to be called Baron or Baroness” he grinned genially “Ain’t Wikipedia great? Did you know your family can trace itself back to the 12th Century, you got a lineage to be proud of!”

“Not in recent generations perhaps” Sara observed.  Garrett just shrugged and laid his cigar down in the ashtray.

“Hell, every family has its black sheep, just ask Ward!” he paused and thought briefly, then chuckled slightly; an oddly affable sound. “Although that’s more of a black flock so probably a bad example…”

“Is this why you’re here?” Sara was determined not to appear afraid in this man’s presence, no matter how hard her heart pounded in apprehension “To tell me about my family history?”

“Why not? We’re all shaped by our past” Garrett tapped his side with his knuckles and Sara heard the dull metallic sound “Of course, some of us are shaped by our more recent past…”

“Raina told me how S.H.I.E.L.D. betrayed you” she said, putting down her book “You seem to have paid them back pretty thoroughly”

“Payback is a bitch, as they say” he laughed “But this is just the start, there’s a grand design playing out that you can be part of, if you’re smart; and I know you are”

“I’ve got no reason to love S.H.I.E.L.D.” Sara told him quietly “That doesn’t mean I don’t see HYDRA for the monster it is.”

“HYDRA’s stuck in its past, not shaped by it, Baroness” Garrett replied “Rich old Europeans with a fantasy of the ‘good ‘ole days’; all Wagner and heel-clicking.  I’m talking about the future…”

He was persuasive, almost seductive, Sara thought, as he spoke about the evolution of the Human Race while pouring them tea; how even before the Chitauri invasion opened the eyes of the world to what was really out there, people with powers and ‘gifts’ were emerging at a slowly increasing rate.  Humanity was upgrading, taking the next leap in its development; S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA both wanted to control and use that for their own ends; Garrett, or so he claimed, wanted to open the floodgates of change.

“…Delphi, Deathlock, Centipede; all part of that.” He put down his cup “Your Mom and Dad thought they were helping to create the rulers of the new Master Race; they just didn’t realise the full implication of that.”

“And you want me to be what? Your pet psychic?” She couldn’t keep the disdain out of her voice, not matter how hard she tried.  For all his pleasant words, the man made her skin crawl; the hunger for revenge and power lurking under them like an alligator in the shallows. There was a brief flash of anger in Garrett’s eyes but he continued to smile.

“Let’s just say, I’d appreciate your input now and again” he sat back in the chair, giving her a long hard look “and in exchange I can guarantee a nice safe nest for you and your Hawk to snuggle down in, on those long winter nights.”

“Clint…?” Sara felt her throat tighten, sensing something of Garrett’s strategy

“Coulson won’t be able to keep Barton caged forever, soon as he’s out he’ll come looking” He leaned forward as if to pat her hand then thought better of it. “What kind of reception he receives is entirely up to you.”

He was still smiling, but the menace and the threat was unmistakable; the darkness around him so clear to her perceptions it almost dimmed the physical light in the room.

“Don’t take too long to decide, Baroness” he said, standing up and preparing to leave “You don’t have many options, and most of them aren’t as pleasant as what I’m offering.”

He gave a little mock bow and left her to consider what she’d just said.  She could have a few hours to think about it while he and the boys went out on some business.  In the meantime…

The men were still in the final stages of kitting up in the hangar bay; Garrett signalled to a powerfully built man adjusting the straps on his combat dress and he came jogging over.  Garrett put a friendly hand on his shoulder and let him to one side

“We got enough bodies on this run, Brock” he said quietly “I want you to stick behind, watch over the barn and keep Flowers out of trouble…”

He dropped his voice even further

“…and when you get a chance, make sure our guest is aware of the _consequences_ of non-cooperation. Understood?”

Rumlow saw the glint in his boss’s eye and responded with a sly smile

“Understood, chief!”

###

“You can understand, can you not, the Baron’s concern?” the well dressed, elderly man on the computer screen said with a hint of frustration “This mishandling of his family’s American affairs does not inspire him with any great confidence.”

“My dear Dr List” Daniel Whitehall’s voice remained calm and cordial as he poured himself a glass of sherry “I regret this as much as His Excellency; precipitate measures taken by unauthorised individuals in the chaos following the demise of my predecessor.”

Smiling slightly at the redundancy implied in that sentence he sat down, crossing his legs and adjusting the crease in his trouser leg. 

“Please assure the Baron that, now I have taken control, matters will be handled in a more traditional fashion.”

Alexander Pierce had come to power as one of HYDRA’s ‘Young Turks’; emerging from the brash, vulgar, ‘80s; presenting himself as a dynamic contrast to the cautious and conservative oligarchy of mainly European bankers and aristocrats who had historically governed the organisation at its highest levels.  A modernist and reformer; his zeal for the new had reached its summit in the hubris of Project Insight; such a blatant attempt at control by visible and easily targeted means was doomed to be short lived.  Its catastrophic end had been no surprise to Whitehall and, like the other Traditionalists, he’d privately toasted it while voicing the mandatory regrets. 

With the aid of able lieutenants like Bakshi and Morse, and possessing the kudos of being the last remaining Disciple of the Red Skull, Dr Daniel Whitehall had swiftly assumed the mantle of power in North America without serious challenge.  Only a few rogue elements like John Garrett remained to be dealt with but they presented as annoyances, rather than threats.

“The Baron will be ‘assured’ when his cousins have joined him here in Sokovia” Dr List said firmly “Can I give him some idea of when that is likely to be?”

“His Excellency will need to exercise the virtue of patience” Whitehall’s measured tones just about concealed his own frustrations with the present situation. “We have certain complications to consider.”

“His Excellency is not an overly virtuous man” replied List with dry amusement “Perhaps if you could explain the nature of those complications it might encourage his forbearance.”

“The Baroness Sara is currently a ‘guest’ of Mr Garrett; I believe he intends to use her gifts for his own purposes” Dr Whitehall paused, smiling slightly, before laying his Ace on the table “The Baroness Elizabeth we know to be in New York, in the company of The Asset”

Only one man merited that title and Whitehall enjoyed the spectacle of Dr List trying to conceal his astonishment.

“I thought we had lost control of The Asset?” List said carefully “This may prove to be a serious problem.”

“Not so, my dear Dr List; an opportunity.  Pierce’s attempts to control The Asset were clumsy, mechanical, damaging.” Dr Whitehall held up a small, battered, red leather-bound notebook “Thanks to Mr Bakshi’s labours, however, we have obtained a more _elegant_ means of ensuring compliance.”

“A complication and an opportunity?” Dr List raised an eyebrow slightly “I shall communicate this information to His Excellency; I’m sure the matter will be handled appropriately.  _Heil Hydra!_ ”

“ _Heil Hydra!_ ” responded Whitehall with a slight nod, closing the secure link.  He looked at the fragile notebook in his hands “So few words, but such a power they contain…”

He handed the book to Mr Bakshi, standing attentively to one side of his master.

“Put that in the safe, please; and ask Miss Morse to come and see me.  I have a job for her.”

###

“I expected better of you, Agent Dead Man” Tony said to Coulson “and so I imagine did he.”

On the monitor screen, he could see Clint pacing his cell like a caged wild animal, restless and hostile.

“I had very little choice in the matter, Stark” replied Coulson “That’s not the same man either of us knew; he’s unpredictable, unstable and disinclined to be co-operative.”

“And you find that surprising?” Tony’s manner was acidly sarcastic “I should think he was even more disinclined after one of your men turned out to be a HYDRA sleeper and kidnapped Miss Wolfe at gunpoint.”

“Ward’s defection was a blow to all of us” the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent admitted “But Barton’s recent affiliations aren’t without suspicion either; were you aware he’s spent the last month on the road with the Winter Soldier?”

That took Tony by surprise, even more than the call that morning from the young woman who’d managed to hack through Jarvis’s multi-layered security protocols and reach his private line; giving him the location of Coulson’s current base of operations and the news that Clint was being held there.  He’d arrived on his personal jet early that afternoon, Coulson didn’t seem too surprised at his arrival or overly happy about it either.  The agent looked strained and drawn; no wonder, when S.H.I.E.L.D. lay in ruins, labelled as a terrorist organisation, and trust of any sort was in short supply.  Paranoia was inevitable in these circumstances; especially when everyone was out to get you.

“You’re sure of this?” he asked carefully.  Pigeon had a bit of a rep when it came to making bad choices for good reasons, but this seemed a bit much even for him. 

“He admitted it when I asked him” Coulson said “then refused to say any more.  You can understand why I had to take precautions.  Barton had a ‘reputation’ in certain circles before he joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and I can’t risk that he’s returned to some of his old habits in the wake of what was done to him…”

“Done to you as well… in a way” Tony pointed out “and yet you seem to have retained your old loyalties; excessively so, one might say.  It would have been better if you’d called me in from the very start.”

“I had a different experience, and have different priorities” Coulson glanced at the screen and the figure still relentlessly pacing “and like you said, trust is in short supply these days.”

“On that note…” Tony took a deep breath “I’d appreciate it if you would hand Barton into my safe-keeping; you don’t want Cap to come knocking, he probably wouldn’t ask as nicely as I have in his present mood.”

“And what about the Winter Soldier?” Coulson asked “That’s not something either of us can afford to be complacent about.”

“Leave that to me” Tony assured him “Barton’s not going to speak to you or any of your people, probably ever again after this, but he’ll speak to me and Cap.  Let’s think of this as a trust-building exercise…”

“…I’ll get this fed into Jarvis when we get back” Tony handed the flash-drive back to Skye “and you must show me how you found that back-door into his systems; I was sure I’d locked them all after the last time the Rising Tide got in.”

Skye smiled knowingly.  She’d agreed to, or rather jumped at, Tony’s offer to return with him and Clint to New York and ‘liase’ between the Avengers and Coulson’s team in the search for Sara and Ward.  It also put a bit of breathing space between her and Phil until things cooled down a bit.  He wasn’t too happy her contacting Stark without his knowledge and she felt he’d gone too far in his treatment of Hawkeye.

Other than a few words of thanks, he’d said very little to either of them since leaving the base; sitting at the far end of the jet’s passenger cabin and nursing the whiskey Tony had poured for them after take-off.  The billionaire glanced across at his friend; any questions he had could wait for later, once Barton had got the chance to rest and calm himself down.  Winter Soldier be damned! The priority now was finding Sara and getting her home safe…

###

Sara laid down the hairbrush and stared at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror.  Garrett was right, she didn’t have many options but what she did have was her ability, and it was time to think of how she could use that to her advantage.  Raina could be a potential ally, her agenda differed subtly for Garrett’s and her fascination with Sara’s gifts more than the merely utilitarian.  She’d hinted at a question she wanted answered, and Sara had the feeling that she was working for someone other than, and unconnected to, Garrett or even HYDRA. 

If she could convince Raina that she would be of more use as a free agent…

There was a knock at the door; a pointless courtesy, but one that made her feel slightly less of a prisoner.  That must be Raina now…

“Come in!” Sara called.

It wasn’t Raina, a man she’d never seen before entered the room; muscular and dark haired with a handsome, brutal, wolfish face.  Something about him made her cold with dread and she got to her feet, instinctually moving back as he closed and locked the door behind him.

“Who… who are you?” she asked fearfully

“What’s the matter, princess?” he asked, with a leering smile “Just Uncle Brock here to babysit you.”

“I don’t need anyone here to ‘babysit’ me” she said calmly “Could you please tell Raina I want to see her?”

Rumlow gave a slow, mocking, handclap as he moved towards her.

“Well done! Mommy and Daddy did teach princess her manners” he smirked “That’s the polite way to say ‘get out, peasant; and send me my maid’…”

His pace was slow and steady, matching Sara’s as she endeavoured to keep a distance between them, stalking her like a predator trying not to spook the game; watching for the right moment…

“Park Avenue Princess; spent your whole life looking down on guys like me” his hard, brown, eyes bored into her as drew closer, resentment making his voice harsher “We’re just here to pick up the garbage, open the doors and keep the bad men away from your pretty little world…”

Sara could feel the hatred and contempt that emanated from him; envy mingling with a dark, burning, hostile lust that caused a sour knot of fear and nausea to form in her stomach

“…although you can’t be that fussy, spreading for a piece of trash like Barton” he paused for a moment with a questioning look “Did it feel as good as fucking the maintenance man?”

“Get out…” she said as forcefully as she could manage “Get out, or I’ll tell Garrett”

“ _I’ll tell Garrett!_ ” he repeated in a pantomime falsetto “Tell Garrett what? Big Bad Brock scared you?”

He snorted with laughter and took another step toward her; his hunger and intention obvious

_My what big teeth you have…_

“Little Princess and the Big Bad Brock” he unzipped his combat vest, his face hard and feral “Let’s write that fairy tale here and now; and, believe me, there ain’t no woodsman gonna come knocking...”

Sara broke and ran for the door, calling out Raina’s name; screaming in pain and terror as Rumlow seized her hair, twisting it round in his hand and pulling her towards him. She lost her footing and he grabbed her round the waist; forcing his mouth hard against hers as he ripped her dress away from her shoulders. She did the only thing she could think of and bit down, hard.

Rumlow gave a muffled yell and struck Sara a vicious backhand blow across the face which sent her stumbling to fall beside the bed, striking her head against the nightstand.  He dabbed at his lip, seeing the blood on his fingers, and looked over at the dazed girl trying to rise from the floor.

“Little Princess likes it rough, eh?” a slow, cruel, smile spread across his face as he strode towards her “Let’s find out just how rough the Big Bad Brock can be…”

 


	23. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warned by Raina, Grant Ward discovers Sara in the wake of Rumlow's assault and rushes her to a hospital to deal with her injuries.  
> Tony Stark confronts Steve about the Winter Soldier while Skye and Jarvis attempt to locate Sara.  
> Thoughts of revenge come to the fore as the team learn of the assault and Clint finds himself confronting his own sense of responsibility and the memory of the trauma he suffered years ago  
> John Garrett confides to Raina that everything is going exactly as he planned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Referenced/implied rape. Aftermath of rape. Past male rape  
> Reviews and comments welcome

"Ward…!" Raina ran towards him across the loading bay. He'd never seen her look this agitated and he felt a sudden, clawing, anxiety.

"What is it?" he asked "Has something happened to John?"

She shook her head

"He's still out on the mission. Its Sara…"

…The signs of struggle were all over the room; the overturned armchair and broken mirror, water dripping to the floor from the remains of a shattered flower-vase. The torn, stained, sheets on the bed; the bloody, bruised body of a red-haired woman lying crumpled on the floor between the bed and the wall. He ran over and checked her pulse; she was still alive, unconscious and barely breathing with a deep cut on her forehead.

_Oh, Christ…_

"I couldn't get her onto the bed" Raina stood in the doorway, wringing her hands; fear and trepidation etched into her face and voice "It was Rumlow…"

"She's still alive" he swallowed hard "but she's lost a lot of blood and there's still bleeding"

"You have to get her to a hospital" Raina came over and seized his shoulder "You have to get her to a hospital now"

The woman was too valuable to be allowed to die. Surely whatever Garrett intended didn't include this? Raina knew one thing for sure, she wasn't going to let Sara von Strucker die; not while there were still so many questions to be answered. Her urgency was compelling but Grant still felt a wavering hesitation.

"Garrett…" he began. The boss wouldn't be happy at his prize being removed from his safe keeping; but then, he wouldn't exactly be too pleased if she died of shock and blood-loss on the floor of her room.

"She'll die if you don't" she insisted "Let me deal with Garrett, you have to take her."

He grabbed a dressing gown from the floor and wrapped it round the unconscious woman. She felt light in his arms as he picked her up, fragile and vulnerable. He looked uncertainly at Raina, doubt and fear in his eyes; this wasn't what he'd expected or wanted…

"Go!" she ordered…

Ward drove as fast as he dared on the winding mountain roads; Sara lying on the back seat still showing no sign of regaining consciousness. He couldn't risk going to any settlement near the location of the base. There was a small town about 70 miles from here, far enough away that it would be hard to trace back if he were caught. If he was lucky there would be an adequate medical facility and she would survive the journey.

###

Tony came out of the elevator and headed across the living room, making a beeline for the bar. He'd enjoyed a couple of martinis on the flight back but felt the need for something much stronger.

"How's Clint?" Steve asked, getting to his feet.

"Sleeping, probably for the first time in days, Bruce finally persuaded him to take a sedative" Tony saw the expression on Steve's face "Don't worry, Bruce's sitting with him. We're not going to have a repeat of last time. Bruce threatened to let the Other Guy out if he tried anything stupid"

Steve nodded. Seeing Clint again had been more of a shock than he'd expected. The soldier in him recognized the look in the archer's eyes; the hungry, haunted look of a man who'd seen too many fights and was struggling to hold on to what remained of himself. He remembered seeing the same expression in Bucky's eyes when he broke him out of HYDRA's prison facility.

"Any word about Sara?" he asked, as the billionaire put ice into two glasses and uncorked a bottle of bourbon; the news that Miss Wolfe had been taken by HYDRA sent a cold, nauseous shudder running through him. He knew what these people were capable of; the thought of Sara in their hands terrified him more than anything else that had happened in the last few weeks. God only knew what must be going through Beth's mind right now…

Tony shook his head, pouring a generous measure into each glass; after a moment's reflection, he doubled the amount in Steve's. It wouldn't have much effect and the guy looked like he needed it. He definitely would after he heard the rest of the news.

"Skye's up in the computer lab, putting some search algorithms together with Jarvis" He handed Steve his drink "If anyone can find her, those two can"

He felt the welcome burn of the liquor at the back of his throat, hoping it wouldn't numb the boiling rage too much. Garrett had been a guest in his house! The man had eaten his food, drunk his whiskey, smoked his cigars; laughed and joked with them, all the while working for their downfall. He might as well cancel his HBO subscription. 'Game of Thrones' was tame compared to this.

"Do you trust her?" Steve asked. The girl seemed pleasant enough and had reacted like a kid given free access to a candy warehouse when she saw the facilities in Stark's computer lab, but she was still an unknown quantity to him and, like everyone just now, strangers made him nervous.

"Surprisingly, yes!" Tony assured him "She and Jarvis are rapidly becoming BFFs upstairs and she's one of the best 'hacktivists' I've ever run across. Coulson was keeping her on too tight a rein"

"Coulson…" Steve looked up at Tony with a troubled expression "Why did he treat Clint like that?"

Caution was understandable, but knocking the man out and locking him up? Clint didn't deal well with confinement or restriction at the best of times. If he'd not been in Coulson's detention cells he could have been on the road after Ward and Sara, probably even caught up with them before they disappeared off grid completely.

"Coulson made a mistake, but he had a good reason" Tony paused and took a breath, there was no way of telling how Cap was going to respond to this. "Clint's been with the Winter Soldier for the past month. He admitted as much to Coulson then refused to say anymore"

Steve felt the threads of nausea inside him tie themselves into a small, hard knot into the pit of his stomach. He'd wanted to try and keep Bucky out of this for as long as possible, at least until they had hard evidence to clear his name of any culpability. Telling the truth to Stark could blow the whole thing wide open, but he had no choice if he didn't want Clint's fundamental loyalty to be doubted.

"I know" he said, quietly, anticipating the coming eruption.

"You know?" Tony exclaimed, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion "And just how do you know?"

"I've spoken to him" Steve admitted, looking down at the floor and feeling like the roles were being reversed. Previously it had always been him confronting someone else confessing their duplicity "To the Winter Soldier, I mean. It's…"

"WHAT! The man almost killed Fury and Natasha, single-handedly took out half of the Triskelion's QuinJets while they were still on the ground; shot you twice, stabbed you, beat you three quarters of the way to death and threw you a thousand feet into the Potomac…" Stark's alarm and anger were evident his voice and expression "Did you two just bump into each other on the street and decide to settle your differences over a Cinnamon Latte? What were you thinking…?"

"It's Bucky… Bucky Barnes…" Steve had to stop Tony from descending into one of his characteristic rants or the whole thing was going to turn into a fight than neither of them wanted or could afford to have "HYDRA brainwashed him; turned him into their assassin."

Tony stared at him, open mouthed in surprise

"Bucky Barnes? As in Bucky Barnes the Howling Commando? How…"

Steve told him as much as Bucky could remember of what had happened to him; how he'd survived the fall from the train because of what Zola had done to him, his left arm torn and mangled. How they'd found him, experimented on him, tortured him and then finally kept him as their pet killer to be brought out of storage whenever needed. All of it was still fragmentary and confused but there was enough to create at least a partial picture of what his friend had endured. Tony was looking at him in horror and bewilderment

"And you were going to tell me this when..?" he asked eventually

"I was wanting to find some solid evidence. Just now I can't prove that Bucky is innocent of the Winter Soldier's crimes, any more than Clint can prove he's innocent of murdering his family" Steve looked up at Tony, anxious and fearful now the truth was out "If Bucky's discovered, they'll try to kill him; you know that. I can't let that happen."

Tony sighed; he'd thought that, after Loki and the Chitauri, things couldn't get much stranger but they were deep in the heart of darkness now and he'd given up being sure of anything anymore. If Steve's story was true, then he was right; he couldn't deny Steve's friend the same benefit of the doubt he was happy to extend to Clint…

"What if his conditioning starts reasserting itself?" Tony sounded cautious "You said yourself the Winter Soldier is still in there…"

"I don't think it will; Bucky's strong, he's fighting it" Steve replied "and Beth… she helps him a lot."

Tony gave a brief, sardonic, laugh

"The Ice Queen? Sorry, bad taste…" he shook his head "She never really struck me as being the Miss Congeniality type…"

"Me neither" Steve found himself grinning slightly "But all of this seems to have brought something out in her. A kind of strength and purpose…"

"Breeding will tell I suppose" Tony laughed grimly "What do you want to do about your friend? You can't keep him holed up in her apartment forever."

"I don't want to bring him here" Steve said emphatically "Too big a risk to all of us. Even him being here in the city is dangerous."

"I can't rely on any of my safe houses not being compromised" Tony's brow furrowed "Perhaps Romanoff? She's always had her own networks, independent of S.H.I.E.L.D. She might know of somewhere, or Bruce."

"We'll figure something out, but we need to think about Sara first" Steve reminded him. "And thank you, for not totally going to pieces about this."

Tony laughed, pouring himself another drink.

"Going to pieces!" he held up the bottle so the amber liquid could catch the light "If it wasn't for this you'd be putting together a limited-edition Iron Man jigsaw puzzle!"

"Guys" Skye had appeared on the mezzanine "Jarvis and I, we may have found a lead…"

"Great! At last some good news" said Tony, looking up at her with a grin that faded as soon as he saw the expression on her face…

###

"Are you sure it's her…?" Beth's voice was steady but the shaking of her hands betrayed her inner turmoil as she looked across at Steve. Bucky's arm was round her shoulder, his face clouded with anger.

"The description matches…" Steve said, his voice thick with pain and suppressed rage "Tony's calling the hospital to confirm, but it seems likely."

Jarvis, working with Skye to narrow down potential routes and locations for Ward and Sara, had picked up the police report of a young woman fitting Sara's description admitted to a small county hospital suffering from injuries consistent with 'a serious assault of a sexual nature'; at least that was the edited version he was giving Beth. The young woman's condition was described as critical, and the local sheriff's office was looking for the tall, black haired young man who brought her in.

Skye had been able to access the hospital's CCTV feed and the man in question was unmistakably Grant Ward.

Beth shook her head in disbelief

"I was always afraid of this you know…." She dropped her gaze and rested her head in her hands "Any time she was late home, or I couldn't get in touch with her; I'd sit hear waiting for the police or the hospital to call…"

Steve could still taste the acid bitterness at the back of his throat from throwing up earlier. He reached over and took Beth's hand.

"As soon as Tony's spoken to the hospital he's sending a car over, the jet's on standby at the airport." He glanced across at Bucky who was still deep in brooding fury "We ought to start getting ready…"

"I'll be ok" Bucky said quietly "I can stay on the jet if you think it will be safer."

"It might be better for us to stick together" Steve replied, seeing the way Beth laid her head against Bucky's shoulder and knowing they would need each other's strength to be there for Sara "That way we can watch each other's backs."

He felt his phone vibrate against his hip. Stark calling to confirm the woman in the hospital was Sara, her condition described as critical. A car would be arriving shortly to pick them up; Tony was making his own way to the airport with Clint. Bucky pulled on his jacket while Beth went to call Tom and Jared; he glanced across at his friend

"We will find this man, Stevie" he said with a dark edge in his voice "and when we do I'll hand Clint my own knife to gut him with."

###

Tony glanced over at Clint, sitting quietly in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead at the road as they, or rather the car's UI patched into Jarvis, drove towards the airport. The man's composure was intimidating and impressive; if it was Pepper he doubted that he could maintain such outward coolness. He could see the furrowing of the assassin's brow, though, and the self-questioning look in his eyes and knew what was going through his friend's head.

"Yeah, going off to Coulson's like that was idiotic" Tony said aloud, causing Clint to snap out of his reverie and look sharply at him "But you'd got no way of knowing things would turn out like this. You can't blame yourself for what's happened to Sara. That's on Ward's head alone."

"You a telepath as well now, Stark?" he asked drily "What's Bruce been putting in them power-smoothies he makes?"

Tony grunted in amusement

"You're not actually that different from the Barton I knew in the way your mind works" he told him "You'll find twenty different ways to make something your fault even if you were asleep on a different continent at the time."

"Yeah? Well I wasn't on a different continent this time, was I? I took Sara right into the centre of the mess and left her there for the taking." He sighed heavily "I shoulda made her go with Beth and Bucky."

"Well, Sara's not actually your property, Barton" Tony said quietly "And in case you haven't noticed she can be a very strong minded young lady with a well-defined will of her own. She kept a light burning for you long after any lesser, and more sensible, woman would have abandoned ship and headed for the USS Steve Rogers."

Both men were silent for a while then Tony spoke as the turn-off for the airport came into view.

"Sara's like a daughter to me. I'm screaming inside and I want to be screaming outside but I'm going to save every ounce of that anger and pain for the piece of shit who did this to her. Save the self-loathing for later," he warned him "because if you're not there for her 100% I'll kick your skinny ass all the way back to New York."

Clint heard Stark's words and knew they made sense, the guy could be an asshole but he had an annoying habit of being right a lot of the time. Deep down though? If he'd insisted strongly enough, Sara would have gone with Beth. Truth was, he didn't want to be separated from her even though part of him knew he was heading into trouble. He'd cared more about his need for comfort than her safety; pity he hadn't been 100% there for her when she needed him.

He'd bled on and off for three days after Haus and Rooney finally finished with him; for a week or more afterwards, taking a dump had him crying with the pain. It didn't take much effort to recall the tearing, blinding agony as Haus forced himself inside, the weight of Rooney's knees on his shoulders pinning him down or the stale, rancid taste of the sock they balled up and shoved in his mouth to muffle his screams.

He'd led his own Lovely Sara to a place where the enemy she feared most had been able to seize her, submitting her to the same pain, terror and humiliation. He couldn't be more to blame if he'd handed her to them himself.

He'd be there for her and, once she was safe and well, he'd be there for the man that did it; he'd make sure that motherfucker got 100% as well.

###

"See, sometimes you have to take a roundabout route to get to the goal, Flowers." Garrett said with a grin "If a thing's worth getting you gotta take the time to make sure it's all yours."

"I don't understand" Raina sounded exasperated, almost angry "How can you just sit there and smile after what that animal's done?"

"I must admit, Rumlow went a little further than I expected" nodded Garrett "But that works out all to the good, even Ward taking her off to the hospital like that. It makes it easier for Barton to get to her…"

Raina felt her curiosity overcome her anger and fear. She'd been afraid of Garrett's reaction to what had happened, both Rumlow's assault and her compelling Ward to take Sara away from the base for treatment. She hadn't anticipated this calm satisfaction. The man sat there in one of the deep, leather armchairs in the room he'd commandeered as his own; whiskey in one hand and cigar in the other.

"You want Barton as well?" Something of what he intended began to dawn on her.

"I could see she was never gonna work for me willingly, and an unwilling ally's worse than an enemy" He took a mouthful of whiskey and then let out a contended sigh "She'll do anything for that little psycho though, and once I have him I have her."

It was a dangerous game he was playing, he knew that full well, but the stakes were high and often a well-judged risk was worth it. Whitehall and von Strucker he could handle, they were dinosaurs who just didn't realise they were extinct yet. Letting the girl apparently slip out of his hands was the real gamble but once he had the Hawk he had the ideal means of control. It would cost him Rumlow of course, but the man was just another STRIKE Team thug, a piece of meat easily replaced…

"…and I can offer him the one thing he's gonna want more than anything else, revenge"

Garrett's smile, and the malicious glint of humour in his eyes, chilled Raina and disappointed her. She'd believed the man shared her vision for evolution but, hearing him talk, she realised he was just another petty power-player seeking his own advantage and not caring what or who he sacrificed in the process. She'd have to adjust her expectations and her strategy accordingly. She looked at him sitting there, consumed by his belief in his own cleverness, and came to her own conclusion.

_He's gone insane_

"I'll get back down to the lab then" she said with an innocuous smile "The next batch of serum is almost ready for testing."

 


	24. Painful Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waiting for news about Sara at the hospital, Clint has a violent encounter with Grant Ward and a difficult meeting with an old friend.
> 
> Moments of honesty are shared between Beth and Clint, and between Steve and Natasha.
> 
> Clint does what he can to comfort Sara as she briefly returns to consciousness.
> 
> The team learns who was responsible for the assault on Sara and agree a solution to the immediate problem of Ward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Violence, Strong language, Referenced rape. Aftermath of rape.  
> Reviews and comments welcome

Clint sat stony faced in the blandly tasteful hospital lounge as the doctor spelled out the extent of Sara’s injuries and what the medical staff were trying to do.  The grey-haired woman’s voice betrayed her own shock and disgust, lurking under the careful compassion of her words

 “…we’re still trying to stop the bleeding and stabilise her; that’s our priority at the moment.  Are there any underlying medical conditions, illnesses or allergies we should be aware of?”

 Beth shook her head, clinging on to Bucky’s hand with both of hers, trying to stop the sensation of falling into a deep, black void of despair.

 “No, she’s always been very healthy…”

 She could sense the doctor’s distress lying over her and knew exactly what the kind woman in the white coat was cloaking behind her gentle words.  There was still a very real risk that her little Sara was going to die.

 “Once she’s stabilised, we’ll have to consider moving her to another hospital…”

 This was a small county hospital, perfectly adequate for the requirements of the local community but not equipped for the specialist treatment Sara would need.

 “I have my own private medical facility in New York” said Tony “If Beth’s willing she can be moved there; I can arrange for the best surgeons to be available.”

 Tony hated hospitals.  He’d been a sickly child and spent most of his early years in and out of various paediatric units.  Ever since then they’d become associated with some of the worst moments of his life; Jarvis’s slow, painful, death, identifying Mom and Dad’s bodies, Pepper’s miscarriage and now this.  Organising Sara’s care and treatment would give him something to occupy his mind and stop his hands from shaking.

 Beth nodded gratefully, still clinging on to Bucky; thankful for his strength.  She knew how much it cost him to be here, nervous in a public space and struggling to control his own boiling rage.  She squeezed his hand slightly to reassure him of her own presence and support. 

 Steve sat slightly apart from them, head bowed and lips moving silently; praying for the woman he loved like a sister.  Bucky glanced over at him.  Sara had been Stevie’s mother’s name, he recalled suddenly.  That brought back another fragment of memory; Sara Rogers, dead far too young from poverty and overwork as much as the TB that finally killed her.  Stevie had been 18, or was it 19? Still no more than a boy, lost and alone except for his only friend.  Despite the pain, he was grateful for the memory; another stone in the wall he was building against the Winter Soldier.  He reached out with his other arm and placed it gently on his friend’s shoulder.

 “She’ll be okay” he said quietly, unsure if he was trying to comfort Stevie or himself.

 “Can… can I see her, please?” Clint asked.  The doctor shook her head sadly

 “Not just yet I’m afraid, we’ll let you know as soon as you can” she turned back to Beth “The Sheriff would like to speak to you, when you’re ready; she wants to ask a few questions, just to get some background detail.  She’s doing everything she can to find the… the man… who did this to your sister.”

 Beth nodded again, not trusting her voice.

  _He’d better pray the Sheriff finds him before Clint does…_

###

Clint took a draw on his cigarette, holding the smoke as long as he could before exhaling.  He was aware of Stark’s approach before seeing him.  The billionaire’s hand-stitched Italian shoes made a very distinctive sound.

 “That’s it all sorted” Tony said, slipping his phone back into his pocket “Steven was a bit pissy at first, but then I reminded him how many research grants he gets from the Stark Foundation and his diary re-arranged itself as if by magic.”

 “Thanks” muttered Clint, then glanced across at him “Making sure I don’t run off again?”

 “Now that you mention it, yes!” Tony grinned “But I was also wondering if you had a spare smoke?”

 Clint pulled the packet out of his pocket and passed it over

 “Thought you didn’t smoke cigarettes?”

 “Only in especially stressful circumstances” admitted Tony, lighting up and inhaling blissfully “Tends to panic the shareholders if I’m seen with one of these in my hands.”

 Clint gave a short, barking laugh

 “Must be on three packs a day right now…”  His eyes narrowed as he spotted a tall, dark-haired main near the edge of the car park “…be right back”

 He was off, moving fast and low in a zigzag route towards the woods that encroached on the hospital grounds.  Tony turned his gaze in the direction Clint was heading towards, spotting the figure disappearing into the cover of the trees

 “Oh Hell…” he muttered and headed inside to fetch Steve and Bucky.

 ###

 Grant Ward moved fast, keeping to the trees as much as possible, aiming for the track where he’d left his car and trying to lose Barton in the process.  Just his dumb luck that the fucking runt had chosen that time and place to take a smoke-break.  He’d studied the guy’s file, knew his reputation; speedy, cunning and dangerous.  The only agents who’d got near him when he went on the run had regretted it

 Ward scanned the trail, where was the little fucker? Turning fast at the noise behind him, he blocked Clint’s kick with his wrists. Seizing the archer’s ankle, Ward twisted his leg.  Clint sprawled on his stomach, up again fast in a tight fighting stance as the younger man moved in.  Ward’s blow caught him in the ribs, knocking some of the wind out.  Clint jabbed back hard, catching Ward in the hip; putting him down on one knee.

 Clint was smaller and older, but had the advantage of speed; and much stronger than his size suggested. Ward’s knuckle strike almost took him in the pit of the stomach, giving Clint the opening to grab his arm.  Ward yelled in pain, feeling something tear as Clint jerked it round and back. He lunged forward, headbutting Clint in the gut and taking both men to the ground.

 The fight became an ugly grapple.  They bit, punched and clawed at each other, blood streaming from Ward’s broken nose as he dug his thumbs into the corners of Clint’s eye-sockets.  Clint brought his knee up sharply, smacking Ward in the balls and flipping him onto his back.  Dazed, and pinned by the older man’s powerful legs, Ward was defenceless…

 Clint wasn’t there anymore.  It was just a machine hammering down blows on the other man’s face and head, determined not to stop until it was brain matter instead of blood on its fists.  He was only vaguely aware of the arms closing round his chest, lifting him kicking and yelling into the air.

 Steve was holding him against a tree, saying something he couldn’t quite make out through the fog of rage.  Tony and Bucky were hauling the semi-conscious Ward to his feet.

 “Lemme go, Cap!” Clint begged, tears of anger and grief running down his torn and bloody face “Lemme finish the fucker!”

 “We don’t know it was him, and he’s got answers we need” Steve said firmly, his expression as dark and angry as Bucky’s “If it was him, he’s all yours after we’re done…”

 “Tin Man and I will take Ward to the jet for a little chat.” Tony’s smile lacked any element of humour “Don’t want the good Sheriff spotting Mr Most Wanted in the waiting room and our conversational techniques might offend Cap’s boy scout mentality”

 “Never was a Boy Scout” deadpanned Steve, keeping his eyes carefully fixed on Clint while Bucky and Tony dragged Ward down through the trees in the direction of Tony’s car.

 “I’m okay, Steve” Clint said at last, gradually regaining a degree of calm “You’re right, let’s find out what he knows, then deal with him…”

 “Good man!” Steve carefully loosened his grip “We’ll get you cleaned up and go back to Beth.”

 ###

 Washing off the blood and dirt only took a few minutes. Clint’s knuckles were raw, and he had deep gouges from Ward’s fingernails near his eyes, but there was nothing they could do about that.  As they came back into the lounge Clint froze, seeing the redhead in the black leather jacket sitting with Beth.

 “Natasha…?”

 She stood, her face neutral.  You would have to know Natasha very well to detect any trace of awkwardness about her.

 “I’m just here to check on Sara” she said quietly “I can go if you…”

 Clint shook his head

 “Sara’s your friend, you got a right to be here…” there was a moment of pained silence “Just don’t ask me to talk about it, not now…”

 He went to sit with Beth as Steve took Natasha to one side

 “We have Ward, and there’s something else…”

 “I know” she said “Beth told me”

 “Is this going to be a problem?” he asked with a concerned look

 “Not for me” Natasha assured him “But there are things I have to tell you…”

 Beth looked questioningly at Clint’s raw knuckles and the deep scratches on his face.

 “Ward…” he told her in a low voice “Tony and Bucky are taking him to the jet…”

 Beth continued to scrutinise him silently. Part of her wanted to hit him, to keep hitting him until he understood half of the pain she felt at what he’d put Sara through over the past two years. Most of it wasn’t his fault, and the guy was going through Hell himself, but she’d been right from the very start; Clint Barton was bad news and bad luck for her sister.

 She sighed; admitting to herself that she wasn’t in much of a position to judge, given that she was currently sleeping with a brainwashed, artificially enhanced Nazi/Soviet super-assassin from the 1940’s.  She couldn’t deny that Barton loved Sara; would kill to protect her, die for her if necessary.  Yes, he’d put her in danger; but she would have been in the same danger even if she’d never met him, their parents had seen to that.  Beth had told Sara once this wasn’t their world; that people like them didn’t belong in this twilight zone of gods and monsters.  She’d been wrong, very wrong, they’d been part of it since birth and now it had come to claim them.

 Whether it was just natural fear, or some hint of the partial abilities latent within her, she knew this couldn’t end well for either Sara or her and they would need these dangerous men if they were to have a chance of surviving…

 “I don’t like you, Barton, and I don’t trust you; I probably never will…” Clint looked up at her, surprised more by the firm directness of her words rather than by what she was saying. “But Sara loves you, and she needs you, so you’d better look after her from now on or I swear I will kill you!”

 Tony had said much the same to him, although in slightly different words tempered by their friendship.  He had made some pretty dumb choices, it was true, and Sara had paid the price of them more than him.  Running had been the dumbest of the lot, he’d abandoned the one person who loved him and could have helped him.  He looked at Beth, seeing the stern determination in her eyes. She’d never forgive him from what he’d done to her sister any more than he could; this was the closest they’d ever be to an understanding.

 “I’ll take care of her, Beth” Clint told her, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper “I promise…”

 “…I didn’t tell you immediately because he didn’t recognize me, they must have purged those memories…” Natasha said to Steve, seeing the growing look of anger and distrust on his face “and when you told Sam and I who he was… I thought it would create ‘complications’ we didn’t need”

 “Your right…” Steve answered, grudgingly acknowledging the truth of what Natasha said, glancing over towards Beth “It does create ‘complications’”

 Natasha followed the direction of his eyes

 “For her, or for you?” She gave him an astute, disturbingly penetrating, look “These are different times, Steve.  There’s no shame in admitting what you really feel for him, even if it’s just to yourself.”

 Whatever Steve was about to respond faded from his mind as Dr Murray came back into the lounge.

"Sara's out of surgery" she told them, trying to sound as positive as possible "We've managed to stop the bleeding for just now, but these are all just temporary measures. I suggest you ask Mr Stark to have an air ambulance on standby for when she's cleared to be moved”

“Thank you, Dr Murray" Beth nodded gratefully "Is... is she awake?"

"She'll be coming round from the anaesthetic soon" the older woman said "but we're keeping her sedated and she's on strong pain medication so she'll still be very groggy"

"Can we see her?" Clint asked 

"Hospital rules only allow for one visitor at a time in the ICU" Dr Murray explained "Ms Wolfe?”

The doctor's questioning look indicated it was Beth's call. She glanced at Clint. He needed this, badly, and maybe Sara needed him more than her sister right now 

"You go" she said to him "let Sara know you’re still here for her"

"Thank you" Clint whispered with deep sincerity as he stood up 

"This way please, Mr... Brandt" Dr Murray said, glancing at her notes.  It was the name Clint was currently using.  With his old FBI and International Arrest Warrants re-activated, he was having to fall back on a selection of his former aliases to keep under cover. 

###

Clint had been afraid they would have cut off her hair because of the headwound, but above the bandage on her forehead it was still there, secure beneath a surgical hairnet. He felt a brief surge of irrational gratitude, then the tears started stinging at his eyes as he looked at his beautiful Sara lying still and pale, surrounded by drips and monitors; bruises and cuts livid on her arms and face, bitemarks on her neck and shoulders.

He’d never touched her with anything other than love and tenderness, that fucking animal had...

Clint collapsed onto the seat beside the bed, crying helplessly. First Laura and the children, now his gentle, loving Sara.  No one he loved was safe anymore. He declined the doctor's quiet suggestion of a Valium, he had to stay sharp and alert. 

He laid his hand carefully on the bed beside hers. He didn't want to touch her, not until she knew she was safe and with her Hawk. Her nails had been clipped short, they must have been torn and broken when...

He choked back a sob. His baby would have fought. She would have bitten, clawed and kicked with everything she had. He had to say something even if she wasn't fully aware of her surroundings, just so she knew he was here, that her Hawk was by her side 

"Sara, baby?" he spoke softly leaning as close as he dared "It's Clint... It's your Hawk, baby... I'm here..."

Sara could hear the voice through the mists surrounding her although the words wouldn't register in her scattered consciousness.  The soft, gruff, tones were familiar, comforting; the feeling of presence associated with them strong and protective. Her lips parted as she tried to form a name.  Clint could see her trying to respond in her confused sedated state 

"I'm here for you, Sara..." he assured her "Your Hawk's never gonna fly away again"

"R... Ronin?"

It came out as little more than a moan and Clint stiffened slightly, hearing his old nickname on her lips. Sure, she must have heard it when the old warrants were reactivated after he went rogue; but why was that the name on her mind?

"It's me baby, it's Clint, your Hawk..." he said again, trying to call her to him from whatever fugue she was lost in.  Her head moved fractionally on the pillow, turning towards the sound of his voice, her eyes half open; their bright green dull and foggy 

"C... Clint?"

"Yeah, baby..." he tried to smile encouragingly "It's Clint, I'm here; I'm gonna keep you safe"

He felt her fingers brush his and gently took her hand. She felt cold and looked so pale under the harsh hospital lights 

"I'm here Sara..." he said again "I love you"

"I tried, Clint... I really... I tried..." he had to strain to hear her, it was barely more than a whisper "I couldn't stop him... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

"Awwww baby, please..." he moaned, feeling tears in his eyes again "I know you fought, you're my brave Sara. It's not your fault, none of it... I'm the one to blame"

"Clint, I'm sorry..." she was still scarcely audible and drifting on the edge of consciousness; aware only of his voice and not hearing what was being said "Don't hate me... please don't hate me..."

"Awwww Sara..." he bent his head and brushed her fingers with his lips, even if she was too dazed to comprehend his words, maybe she could feel how much he loved her "I don't hate you... I'd never hate you... I love you, you're all I got to live for. Please... stay with me..."

###

"Rumlow!" the muscles along Steve's jaw visibly tightened and knotted. He remembered the fight in the elevator, the look of vicious pleasure on the man's face as he used the tazer batons.

"Don't break the railing Steve..." Natasha murmured. He looked down, under his white-knuckled grip the metal was visibly bending. He let go and flexed his fingers with a deep breath, in his mind he'd been snapping Rumlow's spine 

"Stark seems to think he's telling the truth" Natasha continued "I'm inclined to agree, HYDRA or not; this isn't Ward's style..."

"He's still the one that took her" growled Steve “He handed her over gift-wrapped to that…”

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘fucking sadistic beast’” said Tony, lighting up another cigarette as he joined them outside. He blew a long plume of smoke into the still evening air. “The Air Ambulance will be here in twenty minutes.  Beth and Pigeon are going with Sara which means the rest of us have to decide what to do with Ward…”

“I have a solution” Natasha sounded cautious “You may not like it though”

“Does it include a blowtorch and a poker?” asked Tony “If so I like it a lot…”

“Coulson’s agreed to take him into custody…” Steve raised a hand to silence Stark’s impending protest “He’ll give us full access and share any information.  He’s keen that we all co-operate…”

“After what he did to Clint?” Steve sounded dubious but not dismissive of the idea

“He admits that was a mistake” she said “But I know Phil, he wouldn’t have acted like that if he hadn’t genuinely believed Clint presented a threat...”

She looked at Tony

“…you admitted yourself, he was being almost deliberately belligerent.”

“Not without some reason” Tony replied “But I do see your point.  I neglected to include a dungeon in the Tower, despite Pepper’s ongoing ’50 Shades of Grey’ obsession; and Agent Walking Dead does have the appropriate facilities.  If he could keep Pigeon in a cage, he can certainly manage a piece of slime mould like Ward.”

“I can take him down to Coulson” Natasha offered, “What condition is he in?”

“Tin Man may have ‘accidentally’ dislocated a couple of things” Tony admitted with an evil grin “He’ll live, but you won’t have any problem keeping him under control.”

“That’s okay” Natasha with an equally evil smile “It’ll make it easier to fold him up and put him in the trunk.”

###

Clint held on to Sara’s hand as the helicopter flew on towards New York.  They’d be landing direct at the Tower helipad and a surgical team was already waiting; the best Stark could assemble, sparing no expense or effort.  Clint didn’t think he’d ever be able to find a way to thank him for this.

Her vital signs were low.  The medical staff with them were worried she might be bleeding internally again.  An urgent conversation was being held with the team at the Tower.  Clint knew she couldn’t hear his words, but he thought as hard as he could in the hope some part of her would understand

_I love you baby… please… stay with me… don’t let me be alone again…_

 

 

 

 

 


	25. Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Sara still undergoing Surgery, Clint and the others are forced to play a waiting game; sharing thoughts and memories.  
> The full extent of Sara’s injuries and their long-term consequences is a blow to everyone; fuelling anger, grief and thoughts of revenge.  
> Once again Bruce proves himself a good friend to Clint, and reveals his knowledge of their previous close encounter.  
> Natasha returns with unwelcome news for Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Referenced violence, Referenced rape. Aftermath of rape.  
> Reviews and comments welcome

“Your turn for Barton-watch?” Clint asked, hearing the tread of Bucky’s boots on the gravel of the rooftop.

“Dr Banner asked me to bring you soup, it’s a cold night” Bucky came up beside him and handed him the steaming mug “It’s home-made”

“Yeah, Bruce makes good soup” Clint nodded, taking the mug and inhaling the aroma; carrot and coriander, it was one of Sara’s favourites.  She was always on at him to eat properly, more fresh vegetables and fewer power-bars; she had this great scrambled-egg thing she would make for breakfast sometimes, with sausage and mushrooms.

He sighed, staring out over the lights of Manhattan.  It might sound sick, but sometimes he wished S.H.I.E.L.D. had been more thorough when they did the redraft on his memory.  That goofy dork they’d turned him into had been happy; he’d got his beautiful girl, his dog and his beat-up old car, didn’t really want for much more.  Thinking that felt wrong, like he was betraying Laura somehow; trying to wish her and the kids away…

“Guessing you’d have told me if there was any news.” Clint could feel the warmth of the soup soaking into him as he swallowed it down.  It was a cold night for early October, a chill wind coming off the sea.  Sara had been in surgery for almost ten hours now and everyone was tense.  According to Dr Palmer, Stark’s doctor-in-residence, Sara needed ‘multiple procedures’. That scared him, really scared him; Rumlow must have hurt her real bad.

“No news yet” Bucky said, noticing the way Clint’s hands tightened around the mug to stop from shaking. “Beth is resting, I think the others are too.  That girl, Skye, she’s trying to decrypt Ward’s phone.”

“And Bruce is making soup…” the scientist’s calm demeanour was frightening.  From what Tony said, Bruce had been working with Sara over the past year; helping her understand her abilities while trying to comprehend them himself, becoming a close friend and mentor in the process.  They’d feared there would be a ‘Green-Out’ of massive proportions when he heard the news; instead, he seemed to be exercising a glacial self-control. ‘I’m holding on for when it counts’ had been his tight-lipped response to cautious enquiries about his state of mind.

“Two minds in one body; it’s difficult, isn’t it?” Bucky said, turning his gaze out over the city “Trying to work out what belongs where…”

“How do you manage?” Clint asked quietly.  Bucky gave a strange half smile

“I don’t know if I do; I’m not the Winter Soldier, but I’m not Bucky Barnes either. It’s like whoever I am is stuck in the middle of them, still making sense of all the fragments.  Maybe that’s why I like it when Beth calls me James; no previous associations.”

“Do you love her?” Bucky pondered the question for a moment

“I need her” he said at last “I don’t know if that’s the same.  You probably know more about real love than I do.”

Clint sighed deeply

“I love Sara more than I got words to say” He looked down at the night-time traffic moving in the streets far below. “Then I remember Laura, and the children, and it feels like I’m spitting in their faces.  They hadn’t been dead more than two months when I met Sara…”

“When you met Sara, they didn’t exist in your mind” Clint looked round sharply, it was a blunt thing to say but true.  Guess tact wasn’t a big part of the Winter Soldier training. “Do you love, or grieve, for them any less because you love Sara?”

“I love ‘em, Bucky, and I miss ‘em so much.  I’d give everything to have them back, even if it meant not having Sara any more” Clint could feel the stinging in his eyes again “and I feel like the biggest shit in the world for saying that right now.”

Bucky put his hand gently on Clint’s shoulder as the older man cried tears of confusion and anguish, his inner torment written across his face.

“I was never allowed to love” he said quietly “I don’t know if that makes me lucky or not.”

The Winter Soldier had been permitted no emotional connection; any hint of one was a signal for intensive brain-wiping, nothing could be allowed to distract him from his one purpose.  Bucky could remember girls, plenty of them, but no one who stood out as touching him in the way Laura and Sara consumed Clint’s heart with longing and guilt. He didn’t know whether to envy or pity him.

###

It was 3am when Skye decided to let Jarvis run through the new set of algorithms on his own and head down to the Penthouse for a snack.  She was already getting used to the irregular hours and unusual timetables of Tony Stark’s private domain so wasn’t surprised to find Dr Banner watching a movie.

“There’s fresh soup on the stove, and warm bread rolls in the oven” he told her “Help yourself”

“Thanks!” she replied, getting a bowl from the cupboard “Any word yet?”

Bruce shook his head

“Dr Palmer says it’s going ‘well’ whatever that means, so I guess we still have to wait.  How about you?”

Skye finished ladling soup into her bowl and joined him on the couch.

“The encryptions are tricky, but I’ve got Jarvis running a few ideas; whatever else you may say about them, HYDRA is good at keeping stuff hidden.”

“Well, they’ve had sixty or more years of practise” observed Bruce with a wry smile “How’re you finding things here?”

Skye grinned and wiped soup off her chin

“It’s incredible! We could really do with being plugged into Jarvis at the base, although I doubt AC would be too keen on Tony’s UI nosing around!”

Bruce laughed at that

“Yeah, Tony’s not terrific with boundaries and I imagine there’s still a few trust issues between him and Phil. You heading back after decrypting Ward’s phone?”

Skye nodded, looking thoughtful

“I owe AC a lot, and he kinda needs me” she turned to Bruce “He was a jackass with Clint but I sorta understand why.  Everyone’s on edge these days, and what happened with Ward really screwed with his head.”

She paused and looked down, biting her lower lip anxiously

“I’m sorry about Sara, I really am…”

“I know” said Bruce quietly “and we’re all really grateful for your help.  I’d be glad to see you back any time you want.”

They both turned as they heard the elevator doors open; Beth came in looking like she’d not long woken up.

“Dr Palmer says Sara’s out of surgery now.  She wants to speak to us.”

###

The physical injuries would heal first, Jessica explained, but the mental and emotional wounds Sara had received could take a very long time to repair.

“Self-blame is very common in these circumstances, almost inevitable.  Sara is going to need all your strength and support to help deal with that, as well as the secondary victimisation that’s still all too common.”

“I’d never blame Sara for this! None of us would” Clint blurted out “The guy almost took down Steve; Sara couldn’t have stopped… wouldn’t have been able…”

Just the thought of it made the rage surge up in him again and he buried his face in his hands; his breathing heavy and erratic.  Clint felt a hand on his shoulder, either Steve’s or Tony’s he couldn’t tell which.

“I know none of you would…” Jessica continued “…but women in Sara’s position often face a lot of finger pointing and unjustified insinuations.”

“Anyone pointing a finger at Sara gets it snapped right off their goddam hand” Steve growled, almost to himself

“It’s also not uncommon for survivors of this type of traumatic assault to experience a range of extreme emotional and psychological reactions, ongoing counselling will be required; especially…” she paused, this was the shit sandwich she’d been forced to save till the end because it would undoubtedly be the final straw for all of them.

“Sara suffered extensive internal injuries, aside from the usual physical trauma to be expected in a rape, there was also damage to the cervix and uterus; possibly from the insertion of a foreign object.  Her ovaries suffered severe ruptures, most likely due to repeated, violent blows to the abdomen.”

Beth’s hands were pressed to her mouth, eyes wide and face pale.  Clint made a small retching sound.  The others sat in numbed silence, waiting what would come next.

“Given the nature of the injuries and the procedures needed to repair them, it’s likely there will be ongoing gynaecological problems which may need future surgical intervention. I’m afraid there’s a very high likelihood that Sara will be unable to conceive or, if she does, to bring a child to term.”

Beth shook her head in denial and shock, Bucky’s arm around her shoulders, her little sister didn’t have a cruel or unkind bone in her body; this was just too wrong…

Clint got to his feet, looking queasy, hands trembling

“’Scuse me…” he got as far as the steps to the lobby before doubling up, a stream of vomit splattering over the granite tiles “Oh fuck… Tony… I’m sorry”

He retched, his stomach uncontrollably spasming, feeling Bruce take his arm as he vomited again. 

“C’mon Clint” the scientist said quietly “Let’s get you to the bathroom…”

Tony, who would normally hit the ceiling, scarcely noticed as the cleaning droids whirred from their stations to deal with the mess; the billionaire held Pepper in his arms, comforting his partner as she wept uncontrollably.  His face was rigid and impassive, only the slight tightening of the muscles around eyes and mouth betraying the depth of his rage.

Dr Palmer sighed softly. It had been a long and difficult day for all of them and it wasn’t going to get easier for a while.

“We’re keeping Sara under sedation for a little while longer” she told Beth “She was responsive after coming round from the anaesthetic but she needs to rest and sleep.  We’ll let you know once she’s awake.”

Beth nodded and laid her head against Bucky’s shoulder, too drained for any more words; still struggling to fully comprehend what had happened to her sister.  Skye got to her feet

“I’ll… I’ll go back up to the lab, see where we are with the decryptions…”

She hurried to the elevator, skirting round the droids still cleaning up the trail of Clint’s stomach contents, biting down hard to keep the storm of emotions in check until she was in private.

Steve sat silently brooding, Dr Palmer noticed his fingers had torn through the leather of the armrests and were sunk deep in the upholstery. 

“You should all get some rest, some proper rest, Sara isn’t going to be awake for several hours and it’s been a gruelling time for everyone.  You’re all on the edge of collapse; even you, Steve.”

Steve looked up and nodded, but made no other indication of movement. Jessica looked round at them all, slumped and lost in their hells of grief and anger.

“Those are doctor’s orders” she said firmly “and as de-facto chief medical officer for this operation I expect them to be followed.”

Tony slowly got to his feet, helping Pepper to stand

“You’re an infuriating woman, Jess” he growled

“It’s why you hired me, Tony” she walked over to Beth and placed a hand on her shoulder “You can’t be any help to Sara if you’re dropping from exhaustion.”

Steve was the last to go, and Jessica knew from the look on his face he had no intention of sleeping. Several punchbags would be getting destroyed in the gym tonight.  Once she was alone she took a deep breath and got herself a glass of water from the kitchen, swallowing a couple of caffeine tablets.  She should really take her own advice but Sara’s care came first and there were still some miles to go before bed.

###

“Here, this should settle your stomach; or at least give you something to throw up…”

Bruce sat on the edge of the bath, holding the mug, while Clint finished wiping his face clean with a wet flannel. He took it and sat down on the bathroom floor opposite the scientist, sniffing it cautiously and trying a tentative sip.  It had an unusual, but pleasant taste; milky, warm, sweet and spicy.

“Chai…” Bruce explained. “I got the taste for it in India; my landlady in Kolkata taught me how to make it properly.”

Clint lowered his head, feeling suddenly ashamed of the way he’d abandoned his friends, every small act of kindness told him he’d made one of the biggest mistakes in a lifetime of errors

“You don’t have to do this Bruce, I’m not gonna run again.”

Bruce smiled, and moved to sit beside him on the floor

“I’m doing this because I’m your friend, Clint; now drink it, before it gets cold.”

They sat in silence while Clint drank.  The tea soothed his throat and stomach, sore and raw from convulsively retching long after it had been emptied.  The pepper, ginger and cinnamon gave him a warm, tingling feeling.

“I know it was you who alerted me in Sao Paolo…”

Clint sighed. About a year after Dr Banner’s accident, he’d been sent on a special mission on the direct orders of Alexander Pierce. The instructions were to ‘neutralise’ the threat and arrange for the body to be returned to S.H.I.E.L.D. for investigation and analysis.  He’d studied everything there was to know about the target, even designed a special arrowhead that should be able to do the job quickly and effectively.  Once he knew he was ready, Hawkeye set out on the trail of what Pierce had called ‘a human WMD’.

“It was hard finding you; you’d already learned how to hide well.  When I did, I saw what you were doing…”

He’d found Dr Banner living nocturnally in one of the worst favelas in that overcrowded city; treating the ones that most wouldn’t look at, let alone touch, much of the time accepting nothing in exchange. _A Misericordia da Noite_ , the Mercy of the Night, the locals called him. One night, when the doctor was out on his rounds, Clint left a brief warning note on his pillow and called in to say the trail had gone cold, very sorry, better luck next time.

“How did you know it was me?” he asked

Bruce laughed and put his arm round the archer.  For a man as shy of physical contact as the doctor, it was a profoundly meaningful gesture

“With people like Ross on my back, I had to learn quickly.  I spotted you trailing me once too often.  Like Goldfinger says ‘Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action.’”

Depending on your perspective, Pierce had sent the best or worst possible man to do the job.  There hadn’t been much on Hawkeye in the S.H.I.E.L.D. files that made it onto the web; either Natasha had been protecting her friend or the assassin’s details were secured elsewhere, part of Fury’s compartmentalising, but there was enough to tell him they hadn’t recruited the relentless killing-machine they’d been hoping for. 

“You. Are. A. Good. Man!” Bruce said, tapping Clint’s shoulder with each word for emphasis “It’s why Sara loves you, I’m guessing it’s why Laura loved you; and it’s why I’m glad to have you as a friend, no matter what you’ve done or think you have.”

Clint was silent for a long time, his eyes sad but dry, the trembling gradually subsided. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and low.

“You would’ve liked Laura, Bruce, and she would’ve liked you.  She was a nurse, found me half dead from blood loss and exposure after a job had gone wrong; patched me up without asking awkward questions, kept me hidden until it was safe and I was well. She made good soup too…”

It was Bruce’s turn to sit silently as Clint spoke about the first woman he’d truly loved; who’d looked past the eyes of the killer to see the hurt, lost, man inside and reached out to him. About the life and the family he’d been building, proof to himself he had more to give the world than just dealing out death by demand; about the aching, bloody, emptiness their loss left inside him.

“…it’s like someone turned to me and said ‘you don’t deserve this, we’re taking it away’; and now they’re trying to do the same with Sara. I ain’t gonna let that happen…”

Clint’s voice was slurring, head nodding towards his chest.  Bruce wasn’t sure when his friend had last slept but it was clear whatever reserves of energy he had were almost gone. He hooked his hands under the archer’s arms and helped him to stand

“Okay, Clint; time for bed. I’ll wake you when Sara starts coming round.”

Clint’s eyes were drooping shut as he kicked off his boots and collapsed, fully dressed on the bed. 

“Awww Bruce…. Y’r a good bro, know that?  Don’ des’rv it…” he mumbled as sleep finally caught up and ambushed him.

“You do” Bruce said quietly “I just wish you could believe it.”

He closed the door gently behind him and sat down on one of the chairs in the hallway; breathing deeply and centring himself, quieting the restlessly growling and stirring ‘Other Guy’.  It was harder than he hoped.  Once Sara was awake he might need to take himself off to the Retreat for a day or two and let off some steam before the pressure became too much. 

Bruce had a good ear, and he recognized the footsteps coming along the hall.

“Hey Natasha” he said, without looking up.  She sat down beside him

“I’d ask if you were okay, but that’s a stupid question just now.  None of us are.”

“You’ve spoken to Jessica?”

Natasha nodded, her expression carefully neutral but with a dark fire in her eyes.  Bruce couldn’t help notice the way her hand unconsciously strayed to her own abdomen. 

“Clint’s been telling me about his family.  He may not want to talk to you, but he needs it.  You’re the only one of us who knew them, who really knew him.  He has to have some hope of closure if he’s not going to tear himself apart…”

A strange half-smile twitched the corner of Natasha’s mouth

“Are you Team Psychologist now?” she asked, Bruce laughed briefly and grinned

“We could probably do with one, but God help them! He’s in a bad way, though, Natasha. He needs someone who understands.”

She sighed and nodded

“I know, it’s just not a conversation I’m looking forward to…”

###

Natasha sat with Bruce for a while before going in search of Steve.  As she suspected he was in the gym, venting his rage on the punchbags.  Stark had installed a system which automatically retracted the broken one and dropped a new bag into place.

“How many so far?” she asked, leaning in the doorway

“Three” grunted Steve, sweat running down his face as his fists pounded the canvas.

“Rumlow, Garrett and Ward?”

Steve shook his head

“Still on Ward… not even… thought… about… Garrett!” The next punch tore the bag from its hook and sent it flying into the wall. “as for Rumlow…”

“Rumlow belongs to Clint” Natasha said firmly “and Ward is now officially Coulson’s problem for the time being.”

“Delivered safely?” Steve adjusted the strapping on his hands as the next punchbag was lowered into position

“Without a hitch, and Coulson had some information for me.”

“Something tells me I’m not going to enjoy hearing this” said Steve, making a couple of trial jabs

“No, you really won’t” Something in the tone of her voice made Steve pause, and he turned to look at her “Have you ever heard of the Winter Soldier Book?”


	26. Keeper of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Sara begins to regain full consciousness, the horror of her experience cuts away at her confidence and sense of worth even while Clint desperately tries to re-assure her.  
> Dr Palmer does her job with the usual brisk efficiency while Natasha makes the first steps towards healing the breach with her oldest friend.  
> Bucky and Beth share each other’s fears and Bucky has a painful confession to make.  
> Plans are laid to recover the Winter Soldier book and Sara confronts how the aftermath of the assault has changed her relationship with Clint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Referenced violence, Referenced rape. Aftermath of rape. Implied under-age sexual activity  
> Reviews and comments welcome

It hurt, deeper and sharper than any pain Sara had ever imagined. Worse than the clawing agony she felt the day Beth called to say mom and dad were dead. She'd thought it was a bad nightmare when consciousness first returned, a car crash or something like that, and her disoriented mind merely invented those terrible images that haunted the space between sleep and waking.

She wished it had been. She wished she could have dismissed them as the disordered products of drug induced sleep instead of remembering every moment with increasing clarity. The worst of it was feeling and seeing within his mind, what he was thinking, what he was going to do; knowing how much her fighting him would excite him to greater extremes but unable to stop clawing, biting and kicking as long as she could. 

Eventually she hadn't been able to fight any more...

That man, Brock, had destroyed her and enjoyed every moment; the control, and the pleasure of having power to hurt and humiliate, driving him far more than any simple sexual desire. She'd been nothing more than a toy for him to misuse and break until he was bored. 

It felt like she was wrapped in a cocoon of fog, whether that was the painkillers or her own mind trying to protect her from the reality she couldn't tell. Nurses said things and she nodded yes or no accordingly; familiar faces came and went offering words of sympathy and comfort. She recognised Beth, and was sure she knew the tall blond man who seemed to be full of anger and sadness, but there was someone missing; a presence she desired and feared. 

She could sense him in the doorway, his pain sharp and stinging, like vinegar on a cut.

"Hey, babe..." Clint said softly, sitting beside the bed. He put his hand on the covers close to, but not touching, hers; making it her choice if they were to touch "I came down earlier, but you were still asleep. I stayed for a while but... but they had to change your dressings"

Sara could hear the tears in his voice, feel the guilt he was piling onto his shoulders. Why was he feeling guilty?  He wasn't the one who stopped fighting, who let Brock do what he did in the hope it would be over sooner. She tried to focus on the weeping man beside her bed, to touch his hand and reassure him. The most she could manage was brushing his thumb with her little finger

“Clint…?” her voice was still barely audible, little more than the softest whisper, he laid his hand gently on hers “I’m sorry, Clint…. I tried… I couldn’t… I’m so ashamed…”

“Awww, baby, no” he murmured back, quiet and intense “This ain’t your fault, none of it is. Please… please don’t feel this way”

“I don’t deserve you…” she whispered with the faintest ghost of a smile, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“No… Sara this is all my fault” he lifted her hand carefully to his cheek “I love you, I’m never gonna stop loving you… I’m gonna be here for you… look after you… I promise”

In this heavily-medicated state it was difficult to tell how much she was really aware of, or could take in, but Clint continued with quiet, soft words of comfort and assurance counterpointing her tearful self-blame until the nurses ushered him out.  Visits had to be short, Sara tired easily and it was important for her not to become too distressed.  He still didn’t know if she was conscious of the full extent of what Rumlow had done to her.

Dr Palmer ambushed him in the hallway outside

“And when was your last checkup?” she asked, without preamble “Not since the last time you saw me two years ago, I imagine?”

She took his arm and steered him towards her office

“Come on, you know the drill; bloods, eyesight, hearing etc…”

Clint pulled his arm away

“Ain’t with S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore” he retorted, gruffly.

Jessica glared at him the way she glared at Stark when he was being a brat, which was most of the time.

“True, but you still want to be functional, don’t you? And a man on the wrong side of forty needs to take extra care.”

He scowled at her

“Your bedside manner still sucks, know that?”

She took a firm grip on his arm again and led him down the corridor

“You try being Tony Stark’s doctor for six years; then tell me how far compassionate healthcare gets you!”

“Steve asked you to do this, didn’t he? To check if I’m fit for active duty?”

He glanced sidelong at Jessica, gauging her reaction.  She shrugged

“He may have hinted at it; but you’re overdue for a check-up, and still technically my patient so I have a responsibility. You can hang your jacket up here.”

She waited while he took off his jacket and boots, sorting out the supplies she’d need as he hopped up onto the gurney.

“The way things are going, they may need your help; if you’re willing to give it. Now, open wide!”

###

His room was much as he remembered it. Sara's stuff was gone. That must have been moved to her new apartment, but all his things such as they were, sat in their familiar places. Tony's bots had kept everything clean and dust free. Hauling his kitbag out from the wardrobe he unzipped it and pulled out the suit, shaking the creases from it. Stripping down to his boxers he put it on for the first time in two years. It felt tighter across the shoulders and bigger round the waist than he remembered. He'd definitely lost a lot of weight while away. 

"You'll probably need to get that altered if you ever plan on wearing it again" He turned to see Natasha standing in the doorway "and you still keep forgetting to close your door"

"You want something, Natasha?" he asked "Cause I ain't in the mood for small talk"

She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her

"This isn't small talk, Clint. I came to tell you I'm sorry for not telling you the truth"

"Let me guess” he growled “'Fury ordered'"

"He did, but that had nothing to do with it. You met Sara, started making a life with her, with all of us." Natasha sighed "You were happy, Clint, and I wasn't sure the truth would do any good. Would you have thanked me for telling you?"

Clint shook his head unable to find the right words just yet. She was right but...

"Maybe I hoped I'd got one person in my life who'd never lie to me" he said at last, staring down at the floor.

"You do, you've got Sara; and when I saw how much you cared for each other I didn't want to ruin that. I thought there was a chance for the two of you"

"What about Laura, what about Coop and Lila?  Just forget about them?” he snapped, blinking hard to stop the tears he didn’t want right now “Throw them out with the garbage like Fury did?"

"I could have killed Fury when I heard about that.” Said Natasha, remembering her anger and pain on hearing that Clint’s family hadn’t even been accorded the dignity of a proper funeral. “Every day I felt their loss, had to act like everything was normal and I wasn't screaming inside. I only pretend that I'm made of ice…"

"Did a good job of it…" he regretted those words the moment they left his mouth. Natasha and Laura had been like sisters. She'd loved all of them. The only time he saw her truly happy was at the farm "I don't mean that, Natasha, I know how much you cared for them; it's just..."

She shook her head

"You don't need to explain Clint, we denied you the right to mourn, to find closure and I can see what it’s doing to you and Sara..."

"You looked after her Tasha, all of you. When I chickened out, you kept her safe and helped her. That means a lot to me. It really does, but I don't know if we can ever really be friends again; least not the way we were"

They’d been virtually inseparable once, the notorious Strike Team Delta, so closely aligned that the S.H.I.E.L.D. rumour mill had them as lovers. 

"I know, and I don't have the right to expect anything from you; but we've both lost the people we loved, and I'm here for you if you need me." Natasha paused and looked him square in the eye "You don't have to mourn for them alone"

Clint got up and walked towards the window, looking out at the sky dimming towards evening. He shouldn’t be mourning them at all. He should be reading Lila a bedtime story while Laura went over Coop’s schoolwork with him; before snuggling up to him on the couch with a glass of wine.  He’d not ‘lost’ them, they’d been stolen from him by a sadistic whim.  There wasn’t even a grave he could visit, not so much as a plaque in their memory

“I’m not ready for this Tasha, not anywhere near”

“I understand, Clint.” She said, placing a thick brown envelope on the table. “Perhaps this will help”

“What’s that?” he asked, turning to look.

“Everything I could salvage” she told him, quietly “Mostly photographs, a few letters.  I was holding on to them for you; just in case.”

Clint came over and picked it up in both hands, afraid to open it, unsure whether to laugh or scream. 12 years of marriage and two children reduced to a single envelope.

“Thanks…. Thanks for this” he managed to say at last. Sure, it wasn’t much, but it was something.

“I’m not ready for this either” Natasha admitted “But we need to do this or it’s going to keep poisoning both of us.  There’s a good chance we’ll end up in action together soon and we need to know we’ve got each other’s backs.”

“I’ll always have your back, Tasha” Clint looked hurt that she could have doubted that “I’d never let you down in a fight, you know that”

“I know” said Natasha sadly “But I don’t think you’re entirely sure about me at the moment.”

“I’m not, Tasha, not yet anyway” he said with a note of quiet regret, then his eyes darkened “There’s only one thing I’m sure of. Whatever it takes, I’m gonna make Rumlow pay for everything he did to her and more.”

###

“How’s Sara?” Bucky asked as Beth closed the door behind her. The room was shadowed, lit only by a single lamp, the curtains tightly drawn.  Despite Stark’s assurances about the security tinting of the windows in the penthouse, Bucky preferred to apply the old-fashioned approach. Beth walked over to the sideboard and poured herself a large drink.

“Dr Palmer broke the news to her. She didn’t take it well” Beth paused a moment to feel the heat of the scotch hitting her throat and stomach, remembering Sara’s helpless scream, the way her sister’s grief, anger and shame felt like solid objects in her mind.  If this was what Sara experienced on a regular basis then Beth was glad her own abilities were so minimal “She doesn’t want to see anyone at the moment, a nurse is sitting with her.”

“It’s a terrible thing” Bucky sighed deeply “What about you, how’re you feeling?”

Beth took another drink and stared at her reflection in the mirror as the alcohol worked its way down.  She’d let her hair grow and wore it down these days, heavy black waves resting on her shoulders.  How did she feel?

“I wish I could turn the clock back” she said “Take Sara somewhere far away and safe; where none of this could ever find her. But then I think it would have found us anyway, and maybe ten times worse.”

Bucky came up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist. She’d become used to his metal arm so quickly it no longer looked, or felt, strange.

“Sometimes it feels like I’m stuck in some mad dream; full of gods, monsters and assassins from another time.” Beth leaned back against Bucky as he held her close “Any minute I’m going to wake up and it’s going to be a normal day; me late for work and Sara still deciding what to wear.”

Bucky smiled slightly and kissed her neck

“And you’ll spend the whole day wishing you were back with the gods and the assassins.  For me, it’s waking up in Brooklyn and Stevie’s been in another fight…”

“If wishes were wings…” she murmured, turning to face him and running her hand down his cheek “I can’t eat myself up with ‘what if’s?’; Sara needs me, and so do you, what Natasha told us…”

Bucky sighed heavily again, the news that the Winter Soldier Book still existed and might be in HYDRA’s hands stirred a deep unease and alarm in him and seeing Natasha again was unsettling.  There had been a flash of recognition, but she’d made no obvious sign of acknowledgment as yet.

"If HYDRA has that book, they can use what's in it to reactivate the Winter Soldier conditioning. I'd be theirs again"

He kept his voice steady, but Beth could feel the fear rising up in him. She kissed him gently, looking into his deep blue eyes 

"Don't worry, James" she assured him "They'll find it and destroy it"

Bucky shook his head 

"It's not the book that scares me.  The conditioning is locked deep in my mind. Anyone who knows the trigger words could unlock it and there's nothing I could do."

He stepped away from her, visibly unsettled and afraid 

"They could order me to kill you and I'd do it without hesitation"

"Isn't there any way that could be undone?" She was afraid too, and sounded it, more for Bucky than herself; scared he would do something reckless in the hope of protecting her from himself 

"The roots go deep, I don't know how easy it would be to dig them up."

"Sara was able to break the locks in Clint's mind" Beth reminded him "Perhaps when she recovers?"

"No!" Bucky looked alarmed at the idea "Even if she was well it would be too dangerous, there's horrors in there..."

He sat down on the couch and looked up at her

"I don't want her to encounter him, not after everything that's happened"

The thought of Sara encountering the Winter Soldier, even in the depths of his mind, terrified him. He would destroy her without a second thought.

Beth sat down beside him on the couch and took his hand 

"We'll find a way through this..."

"There's something else you have to know, and I want you to hear it from me" he said, after a long silence "Natasha and I were lovers."

He couldn't look at her, and Beth sensed he was waiting for her response before continuing 

"When was this?" She asked 

"I'm not sure what year..."

They'd not just used the Winter Soldier for killing.  There were times he was called upon to train other assassins, specifically the novice Widows of the Red Room.  The training hadn’t just been physical and martial, techniques of seduction and arousal were a significant part of a Widow’s arsenal and those needed refined and mastered also.  A deep flush of shame and disgust coloured Bucky’s cheeks as the memories became clearer, some of his ‘students’ had been very young.  He couldn’t tell if this assignment had been some sick reward or another way of binding the Soldier even further into his conditioning. There had been one girl though, a fiery redhead called Natalia, with more personality than the others; an intensity and drive that made her stand out.  Maybe he’d been out of cryostasis for too long, but the walls began to crack and feelings developed.

“…as soon as they noticed, they wiped me clean again, put me back into stasis.  A Winter Soldier can’t be allowed to feel.  Emotions are Death they said.  I never knew what happened to Natalia untiI now.”    

It wasn't James, that was the thought Beth clutched hold of to keep her mind afloat in the maelstrom of horror and revulsion; it wasn't James with those girls any more than it had been James carrying out those killings.  It was the Winter Soldier, the thing he'd been turned into. His keepers had used him as much as they used those poor, she shuddered at the word, _children_.

Bucky looked down at her hand, still tightly clutching his.

"I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to go, after what I've done..."

"What he did..." she said fiercely. He shook his head 

"His memories are still part of me, part of who I am. I try to block them but they won't go away.  He didn't even enjoy it.  It was just another set of orders until..."

"Until Natasha"

Bucky nodded 

"They called her Natalia, I don't know if that's her real name.  When I first saw Sara, I thought it was her."

"Have you spoken to her?" she asked 

"I don't know if either of us are prepared to revisit those memories yet" he sighed heavily "It wasn't a good time for me, I doubt if she remembers it fondly either"

"Are any of us prepared for this? It seems like this nightmare just keeps getting worse and I don't see any end to it" Beth didn't want to ask, but she couldn't avoid, the question "Do you still feel anything for her?"

Bucky took a deep breath

"I'm not even sure what I felt for her then, even the hint of a human response was enough for them to put me in the chair..."

He shuddered at the memory of the electrical shocks repeatedly running through him, scrambling his neural patterns over and over. It was still hard to put everything into context, random images and feelings surfacing and trying to latch on to something; pieces of James Barnes and the Winter Soldier jumbled together like two jigsaws in the same box.

"You have to talk to her" Beth said emphatically "She's the only other person who remembers..."

"Like Clint" Bucky's laugh was dry and sharp "She's become the keeper of our pasts"

"Excuse me, Sgt Barnes, Miss Wolfe" Jarvis's smooth voice cut in "I apologise for disturbing you, but Mr Stark and Captain Rogers would like to speak with you in the lounge"

###

“Why not just a full out assault?” asked Beth “Take the whole place down in one go?”

Maria Hill shook her head

“Logistics, pure and simple. We still don’t have the resource or set up to take on HYDRA directly at the moment.  Even with Tony’s backing an operation like that would need to involve the military and the intelligence services and just now we don’t know who we can trust or who’s willing to work with us.”

“And we also have the issue that we’re sheltering two wanted fugitives” added Tony “I’m trying to get the warrants on Clint rescinded again, but I daren’t even mention the subject of Bucky just yet; not until we have something approaching firm evidence.”

“Which is why we need the Winter Soldier Book” said Steve “It’s the only piece of proof we’ve run across and it might give us some clues about undoing Bucky’s conditioning.”

“And that’s why you need us, Strike Team Delta” Clint glanced over at Natasha “Looks like I am gonna need that suit altered.”

“I can’t order you to do this, Clint; after everything that’s happened I’m afraid to even ask…” Clint held up a hand to stop Steve in mid-flow

“You don’t have to ask, Steve, I owe you big time; and I owe it to Bucky too.” He looked round at them and shrugged “Guess it’s time to start paying back some of what I owe.”

“Right then!” said Tony resolutely, before things started getting emotional and he needed a drink “Let’s look at the building schematics.”

###

Sara could sit up in bed now, still needing the painkillers but off the drips.  They were talking about moving her from the recovery unit into one of the private rooms where she’d be more comfortable.  Everyone was being very kind.

Clint was with her now; telling her about the mission he had to go one, interweaving it with constant assurances of his love and need for her.  The tender words cut into her like jagged nails. He would never say it, and was trying his hardest not to think or feel it, but Sara could catch just the faintest thread of it deep down inside. 

Clint wanted to have children with her; they’d never talked about it, but she’d known almost from the first time they admitted their love for each other.  It was the one thing that might have helped heal the bleeding wound in his soul and she couldn’t do that for him anymore. 

He grieved for Cooper and Lila perhaps more than he did for Laura.  She was the woman he’d loved but they were his legacy; his gift to life, proof to the world and to himself that he was more than just a killer.  Having them taken from him was the hardest blow, the cruellest thing Loki had done.

He needed her to mend that hurt, to take away a little of that pain and she’d failed him, been damaged and diminished, and Clint’s kind heart would never allow him to admit that.  She didn’t deserve his devotion, not after all that he’d already had stolen from him.

“I’ll only be gone a couple of days, three at the most” he promised her “Then it’s just gonna be you and me and I’m not leaving your side for a long long time.”

Clint leaned over and kissed her softly, smiling at her despite the lines of grief etched deep into his face.

“I’m missing you already, babe, take care of yourself…”

She stroked his face, letting her hand linger on his cheek and gazing into those soft eyes the colour of summer rain.

“I’ll be okay, I promise” she murmured gently “Goodbye, Hawk. I love you”

He kissed her again

“I love you too, Sara, see you very soon”

Clint stood up, then paused and kissed her on the forehead before leaving the medical facility with a heavy heart.  He hated leaving her while she was in this state, but she was well looked after and they had to act while they had the advantage.  Sara watched him leave, seeing his shoulder sagging with the weight they bore.

“Goodbye, Hawk” she whispered at his retreating back. “I’m sorry…”


	27. Soul Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara finds herself on a strange journey but how and to where? It takes an unexpected meeting with an old friend to alert her to the true danger of her situation.  
> Reunited after almost two years, Strike Team Delta slip seamlessly back into action to recover the Winter Soldier Book from HYDRA. They return to shocking news which may have unforeseen consequences for Clint’s already damaged psyche.  
> Dr Whitehall seems curiously blasé about the apparent setbacks to HYDRA’s plans and counsels Mr Bakshi to take a more strategic view of events.  
> Clint’s complacency after a fruitless conversation with Grant Ward worries Agent Coulson while the archer seems privately unsurprised by the HYDRA agent’s subsequent escape, and more than eager to go after him solo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Train concept is used with the kind permission of Sandylee007, having initially appeared in SOS Hawkeye aka 1001 Ways to Almost Kill Clint Barton, Chapter 89 The Value of a Hawk’s Life Pt 3. Anyone not familiar with this author’s work is well advised to check it out over at www.fanfiction.net, especially if you love tearjerkers starring our favourite archer.  
> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Violence, Attempted Suicide  
> Reviews and comments welcome

_Neverreturn neverreturn neverreturn neverreturn_

The steady clatter of the train and the distant mournful note of a steam whistle were the only sounds to be heard. Less than a dozen passengers occupied the carriage, sitting far apart on the faded, dusty, velvet covered seats. No-one spoke, most stared ahead or at their feet; one or two gazed out of the windows at the bleak fog shrouded landscape.  

There was no clock in the carriage and Sara’s watch had stopped so it was impossible to tell how long they'd been travelling in this grey half-light. It could be any time of day, the fog had never broken once, thickly veiling the scrubby moorland the train passed across. 

There was little warmth in the dim glow of the lamps and the colour seemed to be leached out of everything by the persistent ashy penumbra…

Sara leaned back against the headrest. She was so tired, when would they get to their destination? Perhaps if she just rested here, closed her eyes for a while, the rhythm of the train would sooth her into sleep

_neverreturn neverreturn neverreturn neverreturn_

###

Clint crouched in the doorway, bow resting on his knee, arrow knocked and ready; scanning the corridor, alert for the slightest sight or sound of movement. Apart from the background hum of air conditioning and striplights the place felt dead. 

"Five minutes, Tasha!" he growled into the comm

"May have underestimated slightly" came the reply "This is a tricky one"

"Yeah? Well unless the next patrol is having a water cooler moment things are going to get interesting real soon."

"You like interesting" Natasha smiled despite the urgency of their situation. Regardless of the distance between them, the old Strike Team Delta dynamic had been quick to reassert itself; Black Widow cool and collected, Hawkeye snarky and poised for action. Five minutes had been an underestimate, the safe had some interesting little security features which she wanted to be sure were disabled before opening it up. Clint would just have to be patient.

Getting into the building was relatively easy, this was the 21st century after all and HYDRA, like most organisations, used contract cleaners to keep running costs low. She smiled to herself again, if SHIELD ever did rise from the ashes perhaps it should operate under the front of a corporate cleaning company. Getting out might be more of a challenge.  Even if they weren't discovered by a routine patrol she had the suspicion that, whatever she did, opening the safe was going to trigger an alarm somewhere.

Clint was getting twitchy.  It all felt a bit too easy so far, and easy made him think something was wrong.  They were smack bang in the nerve centre of HYDRA’s West Coast headquarters and, so far, they’d run into no resistance.  Either HYDRA was so convinced they had no serious opposition they could afford to relax or there was another game being played and he didn’t like that idea; he also didn’t like that he could hear footsteps, three pairs of booted feet coming from the direction of their proposed exit route.  He estimated thirty seconds before they rounded the corner.

“Time’s running out!” he whispered urgently into the comm, adjusting his position and raising his bow.

“Almost…” she stepped carefully to one side and pressed the detonator button “ready”

There was a small ‘whumph’ as the carefully placed charges went off and the safe door swung open.  No audible alarm but that meant nothing.  She grabbed the red, leather-bound, notebook and stashed it in her pouch

“Package secured” she hissed into the comm as she ran to rejoin Clint “Big Bird, ready to go?”

“Ready on your mark” replied Trip.

Clint heard the pace of the footsteps speed up, beginning to shift into a run as some alert was triggered. The tension vibrated in his arm, they’d be reaching the turn right… about… now…

The concussion arrow impacted on the floor at the feet of the three guards, releasing a shockwave he could feel even from this distance.  It would stun them long enough.  Clint was up and running as soon as Natasha joined him.

“I wanna be Big Bird next time” he grumbled as they moved, rounding the corner fast.

The first of the three guards was groggily rising as Hawkeye’s boot met his face, sending his nose-bone deep into the brain, while Black Widow’s Taser discs took out the other two. An alarm was sounding now, and the stairs to the roof were still a reasonable distance away.  They knew from the schematics that two other corridors turned off this one and they could already hear the sound of booted feet running fast.

“Size isn’t everything” she reminded him with a wry smile; Clint dropped and rolled, firing a teargas arrow down the first of the turn-offs.

“Yeah, it’s what you do with it that counts” he yelled back over the noise of choking and coughing as he continued running.  Natasha unhooked a grenade from her belt and rolled it down towards the semi-incapacitated guards, following it up with a volley of shots as Clint launched an explosive-tipped arrow towards the door at the far end. 

Even she had to admit that was nicely timed, as the blast from the arrow caught the two guards who’d just rounded the corners unawares. Clint raced forward, freerunning experience coming to the fore as he launched himself off the wall, taking the first down with a heel to the jaw and slashing the second across the throat with the knife he pulled at the last minute.

Shots rang up the stairwell as they ran to the roof, Natasha dropping a couple more grenades behind her to deter their pursuers, it seemed to work. 

“Okay, Big Bird! We could really do with pick-up right now” she shouted into the comm as they ran across the roof. Clint turned and launched a couple more arrows behind him; incendiaries, those would block the exit nicely, he’d clearly not let himself slip while he was on the run.

“Right with you!” Trip’s voice assured her as they heard the familiar whoosh of the QuinJet’s engines as it decloaked just off the edge of the building, ramp down and towards them.  The ramp was already lifting as Clint landed with a loud ‘oooft’ just behind Natasha.  He rolled onto his back, catching his breath and feeling the old exhilaration of a job completed.  He looked across at Natasha who was checking her suit for damage.  It would be a long time before they were back to what they’d been, but it had felt damn good to be back in action with her again.  He sighed, it would have to be said…

“Tash?” he turned to face her as she looked up “I’ve missed you…”

###

Sara jolted into wakefulness as the train shuddered to a halt.  She pulled back the fringed curtain on the window to see where they were.  They were at a station.  The sign on the platform was too faded to read and the fog still shrouded everything in a thick haze, only slightly alleviated by the dim gaslights.  It should be strange to see gaslights in this day and age but somehow it felt normal.  There were more people in the carriage now, some of the ones who’d been there previously were gone; they must have got off while she slept.  Sara wondered if she should as well but this didn’t seem like her stop and, besides, the train was jolting into motion again; carrying them further on into the misty half-light.

_Neverreturn neverreturn neverreturn neverreturn_

She should have brought a magazine, or a book, to pass the time.  Who knew how long this journey was going to last?  Surely, she should have some idea; she wouldn’t just have boarded a random train with no thought of where it was going, would she?  Her throat felt dry but she didn’t think there was a restaurant car. Perhaps she should just get off at the next station and try to find a hotel?

A movement along the carriage caught her eye.  So far, she hadn’t been aware of any motion other than that of the train; no passengers walking past, no conductor or steward, now that she came to think about it.  She looked up.  A man in faded desert camouflage was moving down the aisle; out of place in the faded elegance of this first-class carriage.  He seemed to be looking for somewhere to sit, even though there were plenty of free seats, everything about him indicated fatigue or battle-weariness. Was there a war on? Were they refugees, rather than travellers, seeking some far-away safe haven?

_Neverreturn neverreturn neverreturn neverreturn_

The man realised he was being watched and their eyes met.  His were a distinctive, almost startling, light grey; clear and expressive.  Right now, they registered surprise with a hint of anxiety

“Lovely Sara…” his voice was gruff and soft “How did this happen?”

_Neverreturn neverreturn neverreturn neverreturn_

###

“How did this happen?” Clint stared through the ICU window at Sara lying motionless on the bed, they had her on a respirator, surrounded by monitors.  He swallowed hard, throat dry and sore; this couldn’t be happening, it had to be part of some bad dream he was stuck in.

“She took an overdose not long after you left, painkillers” Dr Palmer said “We still don’t know how she got hold of them.”

The nurse in charge of medications was certain that he’d put everything back on the tray before leaving Sara to sleep.  Dr Palmer’s staff were trustworthy and reliable, mistakes could be made but the nurse’s recollection of events seemed oddly foggy.  Jessica wondered whether Sara had influenced him in some way.

“Her vital signs are stable right now, but she’s still unresponsive” the doctor sighed “All we can do now is wait.  You can sit with her if you like.”

“I need to get changed…” he said quietly. He was still suited up; Pepper and Tony had met him with the news as soon as the jet landed on the helipad. They’d wanted to break it to him in person rather than over the radio.

“We should have told you as soon as…” Tony began, his face pale and anguished.  Clint shook his head

“We were on a mission, end of story.” his voice cracked with the effort being made to control it and he never once took his eyes off Sara “Why…?”

“Guilt, shame, grief; it could be any number of reasons” Tony replied “Did she say anything to you before you left?”

“She told me she loved me” Clint could feel himself shaking, maybe he should have realised that Sara’s last words carried more weight than he’d imagined “Then she said goodbye…”

Tony put his hand on his friend’s shoulder

“Go, shower and get changed” he told him “I’ll have coffee ready for when you get back.”

On the way down to his apartment he ran into Beth

“Beth, I’m…”

“Clint, don’t” she interrupted “I know this isn’t your fault, but right now I don’t think I could speak to you without screaming”

Beth had made a big effort to rein in her dislike of him over the past weeks, but Clint knew how she still felt deep down and, to be honest, he couldn’t disagree with her.  Sure, Sara would have been in danger ever if he’d never been in the picture but it seemed like he’d done nothing but drag her from one nightmare to another.  Maybe deep down she wanted to escape him, and what he’d put her through, and death was the only way out.

Once inside his apartment he unzipped the combat vest and threw it on the bed, peeling off the sweat-soaked t-shirt underneath.  He stared at his reflection in the mirror; there was a streak of blood on his face, probably from the guard whose throat he’d slit.  The mission already felt unreal, some memory from the past when he’d been Hawkeye, unconnected to the man he’d become.

It wasn’t fair.  All he wanted was some little corner of happiness, something in his life he could feel good about, untainted by the violence and bloodshed habitual to him.  He’d never wanted this life, it had been forced on him bit by bit, until there was nothing left to do but hit back at a world that seemed determined to make Clint Barton suffer for some fucked up reason he wished he could understand.

He’d had that little corner with Laura for a while, a place to escape to where he could just be ‘Clint’ and ‘Dad’. He’d done everything he could to protect that, hadn’t he? Everything a man should do to keep his family safe, safe from everything except himself.  He’d thought for a time he could have had that with Sara; the beautiful, laughing, playful girl who was far too good for a man like him. Clearly the world thought she was too, it had trampled her innocence underfoot like a sadistic child crushing a butterfly.  Now it was taking her from him and he’d got nothing left.  What was the point of trying to prove himself to be a good man when all it did was kill the people he loved the most?

With a sudden scream of frustrated rage, he picked up a heavy glass ashtray from the table and hurled it at the mirror, smashing it into razor-sharp shards.  He picked one up and looked at the sliver of his face reflected in it. Why not slit his throat right now and get it over with? That way, even if Sara didn’t die, she’d be free of him. Steve would give his last breath to protect her, she didn’t need Clint Barton screwing her life up any more.

The fragment of mirror in his hand reflected Clint’s eyes.  Maybe only Coulson would have noticed the subtle change of expression, the icy coldness that crept in; or the way the muscles of his face shifted and clenched, seeing in them a memory of the young man bound and kneeling in the Peshawar dust twelve years ago.

The hell with that! Clint thought, dropping the shard to break at his feet, he wasn’t ready to give up that easily.  If the world was gonna spit in his face he’d smash it in the teeth, hard.  He stripped off the last of the suit until he stood there naked but for sweat, bloodstains and scars. It had been good to wear it one last time, a final mission alongside the Black Widow, but what was forming in his head would take him so far beyond Hawkeye and the Avengers there might never be any coming back.

Clint showered and pulled on a clean t-shirt and pair of jeans, then headed up to the lounge. Tony was the only one there, drinking whiskey and staring out the windows, the others must be with Sara or trying to make sense of the Winter Soldier Book. The billionaire turned, with a questioning expression, as he came in.

“I need to speak to Grant Ward; can you arrange that?” Clint asked him.

_Neverreturn neverreturn neverreturn neverreturn_

“You don’t belong here!” Ronin said, urgently and emphatically “Lovely Sara, this ain’t your journey!”

How could he be here? Sara wondered dreamily, wasn’t he just in her imagination; an idea of someone she once knew?

“I thought you were dead” she murmured “You said they were coming to kill you”

“I am dead, Lovely Sara.  Lonely Ronin died years back, been roaming the roads ever since.”

“What roads?” she laughed, for some reason she felt a little bit drunk, the sound felt out of place in this grey, dusty carriage “This is a train…”

“Roads of the Dead, Lovely Sara…” she could hear the sadness echoing in his voice “Where we wander when we ain’t got no place to go”

“How can you be dead?” Sara asked, a moment of clarity breaking through the fog that seemed to have invaded her mind “You’re Clint, Ronin’s just a name they called you…”

He shook his head angrily

“Ain’t Clint; Clint’s the one who killed me back in Pakistan” he growled “Been wandering ever since, ‘cept when Lovely Sara called me and took the hurt away for a bit.  Killed me so he could have a chance, now they took all his chances away…”

He reached over and took her hand, his fingers felt like ice and a shiver ran through her

“You gotta go back…” he urged “You don’t wanna take this road. I don’t want you to”

“But I’m here till the End of the Line…” she giggled, the fog creeping back into her brain.  It was a silly expression but she was sure someone she knew had used it recently.

“NO!” the hoarse anger in his voice echoed through the carriage “Ain’t no coming back from that destination; no more Roads, no more nothing. Ain’t no one goes there, you gotta go home!”

His outburst came like a slap in the face, waking Sara from her drowse.  What was she doing here in this dusty, old-fashioned, train; rattling through a foggy twilight world?

“I don’t… I don’t know how” she could feel uncertainty and fear crawling under her skin, a sudden burst of panic deep inside her. His grip on her hand tightened

“Trust me…” he urged her “Trust Lonely Ronin, he knows the Roads.”

_Neverreturn neverreturn neverreturn neverreturn_

###

“Hawkeye and the Black Widow back together again, intriguing!” Dr Whitehall placed his coffee down.  It was slightly too bitter for his taste, he would need to have a word with someone about that “This confirms that the Asset is currently with the Avengers and that Mr Garrett’s plan, extreme though it might appear, is not without merit. It also confirms that S.H.I.E.L.D. have at least one agent within our ranks”

“But… they have the book, sir.” Mr Bakshi hadn’t expected his superior to take the news with this degree of equanimity.  Dr Whitehall smiled, his expression that of a teacher enlightening a promising, but still inexperienced, student.

“What is worth more, the chest or the treasure? Let the Avengers play with that relic, we possess all the knowledge it contains and I suspect even Mr Stark’s genius will find it hard to unravel Dr Zola’s work.  The good doctor planned for the long term and sank his roots deep.”

“But still, to let them get hold of that information?” he still appeared faintly puzzled, but willing to trust his mentor’s greater wisdom and experience.

“It will do them little good, and sometimes you have to sacrifice a piece of apparent importance in order to win the game.”

“Does that also hold true for the Baroness Sara?” enquired Mr Bakshi “I understand that Baron von Strucker is not well pleased with the news about his cousin.”

“Mr Garrett also appreciates that risky moves have to be made in order to gain an advantage” Said Dr Whitehall, adding a little more sugar to his coffee “although I believe him to be more driven by his personal obsessions that any true dedication to the cause.  We may need to intervene if his moves become any more erratic.”

###

There was no visible barrier, but Clint could hear the faint hum of the energy field that separated him from Ward. The former specialist sat on the edge of the bunk, tense and cautious, still bearing the bruises from the beating he'd received from the archer. He watched while Clint settled himself on the sole chair across from him

"I already told Coulson I don't know where Garrett is now" he said in a dull voice "Guy's got boltholes all over the place.  Could be anywhere."

"Ain't Garrett I'm after" replied Clint, sounding dangerously calm "You know who I want"

Ward nodded, not meeting Clint’s steady gaze; it looked like he was focussed elsewhere, his thoughts far away from the cell

"Yeah, well if he's not with the boss then he's likely on the road; halfway to nowhere. There's a lot of people after his head"

Clint's laugh was hard and cold 

"They can have his head! Might even send it gift-wrapped once I'm finished with him. Of course, if I can't find him, you're next on the list."

Ward grunted 

"Good luck with that! Coulson's handing me over to my brother."

"He told me, family sucks; guess there ain't gonna be cake and balloons?

"Fun times at the old homestead?” Ward shook his head “No, just a nice quick trial and execution before the midterms"

"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy, and I'm sure a nice big campaign donation from Stark might guarantee I get a few hours’ alone time with you before that…" Clint smirked, seeing the uncertainty in Ward's eyes as the man finally looked up at him "Sara's kinda like a daughter to him and he's a guy who appreciates payback"

"So, what's the alternative?" Ward asked with a heavy dose of sarcasm "I help you find Rumlow and Coulson lets me go with a slap on the wrist?"

"Coulson ain't gonna let you go, but maybe there's other options; can't say that any of them will see us end up as drinking buddies though"

Ward shrugged, his expression resigned 

"Don’t see how any of that works out well for me. Guess I'm just going to have to go with the devil I know and face brother Christian at the old homestead after all." He grinned at Clint "I got myself out of worse messes before. Maybe it will end up with a family barbecue after all?"

Clint stared at him thoughtfully for a moment. The guy had balls, no avoiding that.

"Well, if it does gimme a shout" he said standing up "I like mine rare"

"Try Jackson's Roadhouse then" Ward shouted at his retreating back "They do a great hot sauce..."

“Get what you wanted?” Coulson asked as Clint came back into the control room. He shook his head

“You were listening, so you know I didn’t” he replied dryly “Either Ward doesn’t know or he ain’t willing to tell.  Reckon I’ll just have to see if Stark can get me that alone time after all.”

There was something in the tone of Clint’s voice that made the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent uncomfortable, a quality he couldn’t quite place; still, the man had been through a lot and they weren’t exactly on the best of terms.

“I’m sure Senator Ward will be accommodating.” He said cautiously

“I’m sure he will be” grinned Clint “Now, am I free to go or you got one of those deluxe rooms lined up for me?”

Coulson grimaced; obviously, Clint had no intention of forgiving or forgetting anytime soon

“I’m not going to make that mistake again” he assured him “Feel free to stay or go as you please”

“Think I’ll take my leave” replied Clint, giving Skye a friendly nod as she came back in “No reason for me to stick around, and I got someone waiting for me.”

Coulson watched his former friend walk down the corridor, unable to shake the feeling that he was missing something, he turned to Skye

“Could you replay the recording of Clint’s meeting with Ward for me?” she raised a quizzical eyebrow but Coulson clearly wasn’t in a mood to elaborate.  As he watched it for a second time Coulson sighed. There was nothing he could put his finger on but he was sure there was more to the conversation than what he was hearing.  Ward would be gone tomorrow morning though, and from that point on it would be the Senator’s problem.

###

Clint laid his head on Sara's pillow, his mouth as close to her ear as he could get it 

"Sara..." His voice was barely a whisper but he hoped she could hear and understand him, wherever she was "I gotta go away soon, baby, I don't know how long for and... and I'm real sorry 'cause I wanted to be here when you opened your eyes. I wan... I wanted to be the first person you saw"

He leaned in slightly and kissed her cheek 

"I love you Sara, I love you more than I got words to say it. You're all I got in this life, if I lose you I can't go on. You're my whole world..."

He closed his eyes briefly and steadied his breathing, he couldn't falter now, couldn't allow himself to be weak.

"There's something I gotta do and we both know what it is. I ain't gonna be back until I done it and you may hear some real bad things along the way, but I'm doing it all for us. When I'm done, I'm gonna come and take you somewhere safe and no-one’s gonna hurt my Lovely Sara ever again, I promise..."

He kissed her cheek again, wishing he could kiss her lips but the respirator was in his way. The machines around Sara's bed bleeped and hummed but she was still showing no response. She had to come back to him, without her he was nothing. Perhaps what he was going to do would light a beacon to call her home.

He ran his fingers gently through her hair, arranging a few curls on her forehead the way she liked.

"I love you Sara; please, don't leave me alone"

The mellow voice of Jarvis intruded, the human sound of the UI always freaked Clint out. It even managed to sound genuinely regretful for the interruption 

"Pardon me, Mr Barton; Mr Stark would like to see you in his study as a matter of urgency"

"On my way!" he responded and kissed Sara again "This might be it, Sara. Remember, I love you."

"Ward's broken out of custody" Stark snapped the moment Clint entered his private study. The billionaire looked, and sounded, angry and frustrated "He got away from the FBI on the road, took down five of their men."

"Told you we should've handled it" replied Clint "FBI ain't trained to deal with a specialist like Ward. Hell! They've been after me for over a year and never got close!"

"Coulson wanted his own people, but the Senator insisted” Tony shook his head with an exasperated grunt “SHIELD's still a pretty toxic subject politically" 

"Sucks to be Coulson then" responded Clint, shrugging at Stark's glare "I got issues, so sue me! I suppose while we're not officially involved in this you want me to 'unofficially' track him down?"

Tony shook his head 

"I can't ask you that, not now..."

"Why not? I'm the best there is and frankly I'd rather be doing something other than brooding" he stepped closer to Tony with a pleading expression. Clint had mastered the art of 'Puppy-dog' eyes only this time it wasn't the last slice of pizza he was after 

Tony sighed and handed him the tablet, secretly relieved at Clint's answer. He was the best qualified for this job and they needed the best 

"Everything you need to know is on here.  I’m afraid you need to get moving today, before the trail gets muddied"

"I just gotta go say goodbye to Sara" Clint said quietly.

"We'll take care of her" Tony assured him as he left. 

As he headed up the stairs to the medical facility, Clint's sombre expression was cut by a thin, sharp smile. Ward had successfully accomplished Phase One.  He'd better come across with Phase Two, or get ready for a sneak preview of what lay in store for Rumlow

 

 

 


	28. Ronin Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint meets up with a new travelling companion and begins a journey towards vengeance, but has he taken a step too far?  
> The team are forced to consider that Clint may no longer be the man they once trusted and what options that leaves open to them  
> Beth regrets her harsh words and finds some comfort in Bucky’s presence.  
> Ronin leads his Lovely Sara towards the chance of a way home while Garrett weaves his web around Clint with a little help from Raina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Train concept is used with the kind permission of Sandylee007, having initially appeared in SOS Hawkeye aka 1001 Ways to Almost Kill Clint Barton, Chapter 89 The Value of a Hawk’s Life Pt 3. Anyone not familiar with this author’s work is well advised to check it out at www.fanfiction.net, especially if you love tearjerkers starring our favourite archer.  
> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> Reviews and comments welcome

"You were right, Jackson's do make a damn fine hot sauce to order" and a damn fine dead letter drop, Clint thought to himself as Ward got in the car 

"Wasn't sure you'd get the hint" the younger man said. He'd cut his hair and got hold of some decent clothes. Apart from the fading bruises, the HYDRA agent looked much like his old self.

"Don't make the mistake of thinking we're friends now" warned Clint "You and I got business to settle, but right now I need you to get me to Garrett and...”

The glance Ward gave Clint indicated he knew exactly how little amity there was between the two men

"…And I need you for the same reason. If Stark and Coulson think you’re tracking me I can use you to slip under the radar. Clever deal for both of us"

"They'll work it out soon enough, but that gives us time to drop out of sight.” Clint still had a couple of untouched drop-boxes he could use if the need arose and Ward has plenty resources of his own. Disappearing quickly and smoothly was a crucial part of a specialist’s skill set “How was the barbecue?"

"A bit emotional" said Ward with a dry smile 'but I think we all got closure"

"Family sucks" Clint grunted, as he started the car and tuned the radio to a country station “My car. My music.”

###

"We have a problem" Tony announced to the team, Bruce raised an eyebrow

“Only one? That would make a nice change.”

Tony shot the scientist an irritated glance

“I thought we agreed” he retorted “I do the sarcasm, you do the rage-monster.”

“So, what is this problem?” Steve asked, sensing the two about to go off into a tangential riff of bickering.

“This!” said Tony, pressing ‘play’ on the remote control

“What are we looking for?” asked Natasha as they watched the footage of a surly Clint talking to a sullen, defeated, Grant Ward in Coulson’s high-security cell.  Tony fast-forwarded a few frames then pressed ‘pause’

“It was Fitz who noticed that you never see Clint’s hands from the moment he sits down to when he gets up, which is unusual because Pigeon is a perpetual fidget, until…”

The image on the screen expanded and began to jump forward frame by frame. Clint’s right hand was visible for about half a second, in a shape that would have meant nothing to the casual observer.

“He’s Signing” Natasha said with a heavy sigh, seeming to slump in her chair. Steve and Bruce looked at each other, neither wanting to admit what that meant. Finally, Steve spoke

“Do we know what he’s saying?”

Tony shook his head. Coulson’s team had analysed the recording inside out, even trying to catch reflections of Clint’s hands in Ward’s eyes or extrapolate from the small muscular twitches in his arms and Ward’s sometimes enigmatic responses.

“Coulson believes he was feeding Ward information about the transit plans, and arranging some kind of meeting point.  The manager at Jackson’s roadhouse insists ‘hot sauce’ isn’t an item on the menu.  That must be a code of some sort.  May thinks it’s one of Wards drop-off points, they’re investigating the backgrounds of the staff there.”

“This is bad” Bruce muttered, biting nervously at his bottom lip.

It was worse than bad, Tony thought; five Federal Agents together with a United States Senator and his parents had been killed.  If Clint had aided Ward in his escape, and withheld information about the man’s intentions, it put him in a very dangerous position indeed.

“Coulson’s not telling the authorities” Tony informed them “He’s leaving Clint to us…”

“We know why Clint’s doing this” Bruce interjected, uncomfortable with the unspoken implications of Tony’s statement.

“Getting to Rumlow doesn’t excuse or justify it” said Steve, shaking his head in disbelief “People have died…”

“That’s not what I mean” interrupted Bruce, looking at Natasha “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Care to elucidate?” enquired Tony, glancing at Steve and then Natasha.  She drained her glass and held it out to Tony for a refill

“What Bruce means is that the shock of Sara’s suicide attempt may have shattered the last fragments of Clint’s ability to distinguish between right and wrong”

The billionaire’s whole body appeared to sag as he was forced to acknowledge what he’d been carefully trying to avoid facing

“You’re talking about criminal insanity.”

“Clint’s endured hell for the last two years” Natasha said, deep notes of sadness in her voice “Sara’s been the only thing keeping him even partially sane.  All he can think of now is making Rumlow pay for what’s happened to her and he doesn’t care what he has to do to make that happen.”

“I care…” said Steve, quietly resolute “Clint’s heading to a place he might not come back from and I’m not willing to see more people lose their lives over this.”

Deep down inside he felt sick. Clint was his friend, and the man had endured more than anyone should have to bear, but five FBI agents and three civilians were dead. He would do everything he could to help Clint find his way back but, if Bruce and Natasha were right and the man had finally snapped under the relentless pressure, then their choices might be limited

“I’ll go after him, I know him better than any of you” Natasha closed her eyes for a moment, remembering a rainy street in Budapest “I’ve got a chance of getting through to him.”

She met Steve’s questioning look with a fierce glare; she wasn’t going to get second-guessed about her other options by anyone, not even Steve. 

###

Bucky picked the book off the floor.  It must have fallen from Beth’s lap when she fell asleep.  She’d been by her sister’s side for nearly twelve hours without a break, reading to her in the hope that the sound of her voice could call Sara home to them. He looked at the title, ‘Love in the Time of Cholera’.

“It’s one of Sara’s favourites” Beth said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes “Sometimes we would take turns reading it to each other in the evenings…”

She looked over at the still figure on the bed, the only motions and sounds coming from the ventilator and the monitors.  Book Night felt like something that happened a century ago; in a strange, far-away, land called Normality.

“I brought you tea” he handed Beth the book and stroked her hair “You should go to bed and get some proper sleep. I can sit with Sara for a while.”

He bent down and kissed her

“I’ll call you if anything changes, promise.”

Beth sighed and got to her feet, her back stiff and sore from long hours in the chair.  She didn’t really want to leave but, Bucky was right, she needed a proper rest if she was going to be any good for Sara.

“I said some terrible things to him before he left.” She admitted “I probably meant most of them as well.”

Bucky put his arms around her and Beth rested her head on his shoulder.  She’d been trying to get over, or at least set aside, her dislike of Clint but the last few days had just been too much and everything she’d been bottling up had come pouring out at once.  What scared her was the way Clint didn’t seem to get angry or even yell back; he just sat there with a sad expression as if he agreed with every word.

“Maybe if I’d been more sympathetic, thought about what he was going through…”

Bucky shook his head. Clint had been set on this course well before Beth’s outburst and he doubted that anything she said wasn’t something he’d already thought himself ten times over.

“Clint’s made his choices” he said quietly “and you have Sara to think about. I’m here for the both of you so go get some rest.”

He kissed her again, holding her tight against his chest

“I love you Beth, remember that; I’ve never gonna be far from you.”

Bucky sighed heavily. He hadn’t admitted to anyone, not even Stevie, the anger that surged up in him when he heard what Clint had done.  Ward was HYDRA, a traitor to his own team and friends, and Clint had aided his escape, costing the lives of eight people.  The two of them could have gone after Garrett themselves with no need of this.  Clint might not be in his right mind but Bucky still felt betrayed.  He looked down at Sara’s still form. How would she react when she found out?

###

“Keep hold of my hand” Ronin instructed her as the train began to slow “Don’t let go, whatever happens”

“Why don’t we get off at the station?” Sara asked. The idea of jumping from a moving train, even one moving so slowly, scared her as much as whatever lay ahead. Ronin grinned at her

“Lovely Sara; smells of roses, tastes of honey” The old, lightly-mocking, lilt was back “Don’t wanna meet the Station Masters. They’ll know you don’t belong. Oracle speaks for the Dead, she doesn’t belong with them” He pulled her to him and kissed her hard “Don’t try to understand, just keep hold of Lonely Ronin.”

The ground beside the track was soft, almost spongy, like damp turf. Ronin’s fingers were locked tightly into hers and his grip remained solid even as they rolled; coming to a halt with her beneath him.  He ground his hips against hers with a low groan, then pulled her to her feet.

“No time to taste Lovely Sara’s honey” he said, sniffing the air like a bloodhound “Gotta find a Passing Place”

Ronin led her through the mist, following some trail only he could detect.  Sara kept a close grip of his hand, trying to ignore the shapes and noises around them; distorted and unnatural, vague shadows of a surreal nightmare.

“They smell your light” he growled “But they won’t come near the Ronin.”

He let out a series of snarling barks, causing the shapes to recede further into the grey miasma surrounding them.

“How much further?” gasped Sara.  They weren’t moving fast but she felt drained and out of breath, as if her vitality was being sapped. For a moment, she thought she was falling but found herself being carried, Ronin’s powerful arms holding her up.

“Not long” he promised “Ronin’ll show you the way home; but he can’t promise you’ll like what you find.”

###

They met Garrett in one of his secondary bases, hidden deep in an abandoned industrial facility.  The man was genial, welcoming; an almost friendly look in his sharp, dark eyes. Dismissing Ward and greeting Clint like an old sparring partner, he ushered the former Avenger into the room he was using as his office; all the time, noting the way he checked out the positioning of guards and avenues of escape without appearing to do so.  The man was a true professional, an artist, S.H.I.E.L.D. had never fully appreciated the true qualities of the asset they had here.

You've had a rough time, from what I hear, Barton.” Garrett shook his head in dismay as he uncorked a bottle of the good stuff. “Saddens me, to see a man like you treated like that"

Clint didn't take the proffered whisky and Garrett set it down on the table beside him 

"I ain't here for your sympathy, Garrett" He replied "Only one thing I'm interested in..."

Garrett nodded understandingly 

"Rumlow was gone by the time I got back" he sounded apologetic, genuinely regretful "If I had him he'd be all yours. What he did to that poor girl; sickens me to think I used to call him a friend"

He stared down at his glass, shaking his head sadly, the perfect image of a man betrayed.

"He was your man" Clint growled "You kidnapped her..."

Garrett looked up at him, a sharp glint in his eyes 

"Seems to me that Grant was extracting her from a danger zone. As I recall, Coulson had just shot you full of dendrotoxin and was dragging you off to a cell. S.H.I.E.L.D. ain't renowned for treating Gifted well; course none of us expected Rumlow to go full psycho the way he did..."

Clint glared at him 

"Ward as the knight in shining armour? don't gimme that bullshit. HYDRA ain't winning any prizes as charity of the year"

Garrett sat back with a laugh 

"HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. can kiss my ass. Pair of ugly sisters fighting over who goes to the ball. Both of them are done and they don't realise it." he pulled up his shirt to show the metal plating on his side. "Only HYDRA isn't so quick to discard a good asset."

"How'd that happen?" asked Clint, as Garrett tucked his shirt back in. 

"Settle back and drink your whisky" Garrett said, offering the glass again; this time, Clint accepted "and let me tell you how a true and trusted S.H.I.E.L.D. agent learned how loyalty's rewarded, the hard way..."

Despite his caution and mistrust, Clint felt himself drawn in to the former S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent's story. A mission in the Bosnian mountains had gone wrong, leaving him on a hillside with half his guts hanging out. Extraction was a 'Sorry, no go!’ Everyone was busy elsewhere and S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't want to risk drawing attention to the operation. So long, Agent Garrett, and thanks for your service!  Rather than curl up and die, he patched the hole in his side with duct tape and plastic, walking through the night to the nearest medical facility.

"Still thought I was done for, but the contact who met me there hinted there was an 'alternative' option..."

That option was Hydra and project Deathlock, a cybernetics black experiment carried out under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar.  Garrett became its first subject and soon rose to a senior position under Pierce

"Don't get me wrong, I got no illusions about HYDRA, but they gave me a chance S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't and that got me thinking about just how little I really owe them."

Garrett's tone was smooth and persuasive without having too much of the sales pitch about it.  He kept himself outwardly sympathetic while observing the effect this was having on the mind of the damaged man in front of him.  Barton might not be convinced, but he was listening. 

"You won't find me 'Hail HYDRA'ing or throwing stupid ass salutes, we're as expendable to them as we are to S.H.I.E.L.D.  Pierce was an asshole but one thing he was right about, those old-school clowns have lost the plot.  The future belongs to men like us, who know what we want and ain't willing to be denied it any longer..."

"Only one thing I want, Garrett" Clint's voice was quiet and steady "You know what that is..."

"I'll do what I can to help you find him" Garrett promised, topping up Clint's glass "No strings attached, but I've always liked you Barton. Be good to have you at my side."

Clint gave him a long hard look then picked up the whisky and drained the glass 

"Help me find Rumlow, then we can talk"

“Is he buying it?” Ward asked, watching the conversation on the security monitor

“Now that he’s drinking the whisky, yes” Raina replied with a smile. She laughed a little at Ward’s puzzled expression. “A mild hypnotic coating the inside of the glass.  Enough to induce a state of susceptibility without arousing suspicion in the subject.”

She looked over at the other monitor.  The sound was turned off, but a good lip-reader would be able to determine the bulk of the obscenities the dark-haired man in the holding cell was yelling at the camera.

“A few more sessions to establish dependence, and convince Barton that a search is under way, then we hand Rumlow to him on a platter and seal the contract with blood” She pouted happily “It’s really quite Faustian, when you think about it.  By the time he’s finished dismantling Brock, he’ll belong to us; body and soul.”

 

 


	29. Waking up is hard to do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronin keeps his word and shows Sara the way back but will she like what she finds there?  
> Garrett continues to draw Clint deeper into his grip while Bruce tries to explain things to Sara and Beth attempts to describe her feelings to Bucky.  
> A new player enters the game as Dr Whitehall sets his own plans in motion and Garrett begins to close the trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Some references to rape and suicide.  
> Reviews and comments welcome

How long had they been walking? It was impossible to tell the passage of time in this grey twilight world, nothing but the mist and the spongy, scrubby, turf underfoot.  Shadows and forms loomed at them but backed away from Ronin’s growls as he navigated their way seemingly by scent; there was a wild, feral quality about his movements. The other inhabitants of this place appeared to know and fear him.

“Not much further, Lovely Sara” he assured her “Ronin can smell a Passing Place”

Whatever it was he smelled Sara could feel, or rather taste; the coppery tang in her mouth becoming stronger as they drew closer to an unseen destination. She clung on to Ronin’s arm for support, a dizziness and weakness rising in her as the mists thickened around them.

“What is it?” she gasped, finding it hard to catch a breath “Why do I feel this way.”

“Passing Place is calling to you” he said, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply “One last smell of roses.”

“Can’t you come with me?” she begged, clutching hold of him tightly “You don’t belong here either.  Clin… you’re not dead, not really. I don’t want to lose you again”

Ronin wrapped his arms about her, pulling her in close.  This was different from their desert nights, a longing and desire far beyond any physical lust

“Not dead and not alive; Lonely Ronin roams the Roads” his voice was heavy with regret “Waiting here to show you home.”

“But you’ve shown me home, haven’t you?” she looked into his eyes, seeing the sadness in them “Ronin, what do you mean…?”

“You got a dark path ahead, Lovely Sara, wish I could walk it with you. He’ll see you to the end and I’ll be waiting after.”

He bent his mouth to hers, kissing her with a deep, longing passion; tasting the iron and copper in her mouth.

“Blood and cum, only Life tastes like that” he murmured in her ear “Passing Place is coming for you. Remember Lonely Ronin”

Sara opened her mouth to respond but could already feel the pull in her belly, a magnetic force drawing her into darkness; the mist thickening and becoming blackness.  A rushing, pounding noise filled her ears and caused her entire body to vibrate as she fell into nothingness. The images and memories of where she’d been fell away like late autumn leaves and she suddenly found herself unable to breath; choking and gasping as something hard and cold blocked her throat.

Sara became aware of hands removing whatever filled her mouth and throat, breath flowing into her lungs; voices and sounds around her and a sudden sharp, dazzling, light. She cried out in fear and heard a familiar voice respond.

“It’s okay Sara, you’re fine” Dr Palmer assured the distressed woman struggling back into consciousness “We’re just taking the breathing tube out. You’re going to be ok.”

“Sara?” Beth took hold of her sister’s hand to soothe her, tears of relief and gratitude running down her cheeks “It’s okay sweetheart, I’m here.  You’re back with us.”

###

“Sara’s awake and responsive.  Preliminary tests show no signs of brain or organ damage” There was an audible sigh of relief from the team at the news from Dr Palmer.  Sara was resting but they would be able to see her soon.  Steve and Tony both looked like a hundred tons had been lifted off their shoulders

“She may very likely be feeling ashamed, guilty and very distressed, so please be very gentle and careful with what you say to her. Concentrate on making her feel supported and loved as much as possible.” Jessica looked around at them “She’s asking to speak to Clint.  Any volunteers?”

“I’ll do it. I owe it to both of them” Bruce said quietly.  He looked at the others reproachfully “The rest of you might as well go up there wearing T-shirts that read ‘Your Boyfriend’s Joined HYDRA’”

“No-one’s actually _said_ that” muttered Tony with mild embarrassment as Bruce got up and headed to the stairs.

###

“Oh Bruce, I’m so sorry…” Sara began, tearfully as her friend and mentor sat beside her. He took her hand and made a gentle ‘shushing’ gesture.

“I’m just glad you’re still here” he said quietly “We all are, and no-one’s angry at you.  We love you and we’re all here to help you get better.”

“I just feel so stupid” she said, “Causing everyone so much pain and worry.”

“You felt you didn’t have any other way out.” Bruce voice trembled slightly “I know how that feels, and what it can make someone do.”

She looked at him and he nodded slightly, feeling her hand grip his a little tighter

“I’m here for you any time you want to talk about it.” He promised her. Sara sighed and laid her head back on the pillow

“Clint must be so mad at me right now. Where is he? In his nest or demolishing targets with Natasha?”

“Clint’s not here…” Bruce paused nervously as Sara looked up at him “He went in search of Rumlow not long after…”

“Bruce?” her voice and gaze were suddenly steady and alert “What aren’t you telling me?”

###

“Rumlow’s last reported position is here” Garrett brought up an enlargement of the map on the screen. “Looks like he’s heading into the wilds”

Clint nodded, taking another mouthful of whiskey. The forests of the north-west were a good place for a man to hide out.  He’d kept himself low there for nearly six months.

“I know that area” he said “Laura… Laura and me talked about buying a cabin up there for when the kids were older.”

He drained his glass, letting the burn of the alcohol sear the edge of the pain.  Garrett looked at him with unfeigned sympathy.

“I was truly sorry to hear about that, Barton; angry too.”

Clint grunted

“Gonna tell me how HYDRA would’ve kept them safe?”

Garrett shook his head as he poured Clint a refill

“Man entrusts his family’s safety to any organisation, he’s got a right to expect they’ll be protected”

“Yeah” nodded Clint gritting his teeth “That’s what you’d think.”

“I know we got our differences, some pretty big ones” Garrett said, handing Clint his drink and squeezing his shoulder “But I wouldn’t wish that hell on my worst enemy.  No wonder you high-tailed it off.”

“Heard they sent you after me” Clint took a sniff of the whisky.  Garrett seemed to have an unfailing supply of high-end single malts.  Say what you like about HYDRA, they had good liquor.

“I got some orders, did enough to keep the brass happy” Garrett shrugged “You made it pretty clear you wanted left alone.  I didn’t fancy the odds on making you change your mind.”

“Thanks, I guess” muttered Clint, turning his attention back to the map “What’s the next step.”

“Up to you Barton” said Garrett “Can’t offer you much in the way of back-up but we can fuel your car and arm you up.”

“I want Ward” Clint’s tone was decisive, no argument possible “He helped start this, he can help me finish it.”

Garrett spread his hands obligingly

“What’s mine is yours” he said with a benign grin. “Just bring him back alive and in one piece if possible.”

“Won’t make any rash promises” Clint finished his drink “I’ll want to be on the road first thing”

“I’ll have everything ready, Ward included” Garrett promised as Clint left to put his head down for the night.

He was still smiling quietly as Raina came in.  That had been a real smart touch of hers, choosing an area near where the Bartons had thought about buying a cabin.  Allowed Barton to bring up the unhappy memories himself, ripe for exploitation.  The carefully worded prompts, aided by the hypnotic, were doing their work nicely.  Barton wouldn’t be going ‘Hail HYDRA’ at any point ever, but Garrett was now in the territory of sparring partner and potential ally rather than all-out enemy.  Give him Rumlow and the deal was sealed.  Even if he decided to waste Ward as an afterthought, the price was worth the loss.

“We’ll release the rabbit when the Hawk is in sight of the hunting ground” she said with a very satisfied smile “It wouldn’t do for it to look too easy.”

###

“This is my fault” Sara shook her head in shock and disbelief “I pushed him over the edge.”

“Sara” Bruce sounded gentle but firm “Attempted suicide isn’t unknown where someone’s experienced a massive trauma.  What pushed Clint over the edge was Rumlow and the things he put you through.  I’m your friend, your mentor and I’m not going to let you blame yourself for this.

He gave her a mock-serious frown and Sara shook her head with a sad little smile.  Bruce was the gentlest, kindest man she knew and she was glad to have him as a friend, and glad that he cared so much for Clint as well.

“Maybe I could have said something to stop him” she said quietly

Bruce shrugged

“Possibly, but Clint’s a stubborn son of a bitch when he puts his mind to something.  Tony would say he’s only got room in there for one idea at a time.”

“And right now, he’s got a really bad idea in there” Sara sighed “Is there anything we can do to try and help him?”

“Natasha’s on his trail; Steve and Tony are trying to find Garrett and Coulson has kept quiet about Clint helping Ward escape” Bruce hadn’t let go of Sara’s hand throughout, the longest physical contact he’d had in years.  He could feel from the way it shook how much she wasn’t saying about her own concern that Clint had gone that step too far she’d always feared “And you need to focus on getting better.”

Sara closed her eyes.  This was one never-ending nightmare that she couldn’t wake from, not matter how much she tried. Somewhere deep inside was the conviction she’d been warned about this, but she couldn’t remember when or by whom.  No matter what Bruce said, she knew this was her fault; he’d come back from the mission to find her almost gone from him and it had broken his mind.

“I’ll let you get a little more sleep” Bruce let go of her hand and kissed her cheek “There’s going to be no shortage of visitors I think.”

_Everyone except the one she really needs. Clint, you idiot!_

###

Bucky knew Natasha wouldn’t be able to find Clint unless he wanted her to, she knew it as well.  The man had disappeared off S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar for more than a year and the only men who got close regretted it.  Going after him was a delaying tactic, giving her friend the chance to come to his senses before the shit really hit the fan.  The lights were dim in the apartment when he got in, soft classical music playing in the background while Beth curled asleep on the couch.

“…was lis’nin’ to that” she mumbled in protest as he turned it off.  Bucky sat on the floor beside the couch and kissed her

“Sorry, I thought you were asleep.” She’d been sitting with Sara most of the evening before Tony turned up to take a shift.  It wasn’t officially a suicide watch, but Jessica didn’t want Sara left alone and thought they would make better company than any of the nurses.

“I can’t sleep on the couch, not properly anyway.” She said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes “I wake up grouchy and bad tempered. Any news?”

“Steve and Tony are heading up to the old Delphi base with some of Coulson’s people, Natasha’s tracking from Clint and Ward’s last verified location and I think Bruce is making soup.”  Cooking appeared to be one of the main ways the scientist dealt with stressful situations.

“He made daal and a chickpea curry yesterday” laughed Beth “Tony says he misses India”

She sighed, the moment of humour passing.  She’d never had much to do with this part of Sara’s life and most of these people were semi-strangers to her. She couldn’t recall ever seeing them this deflated before.  Sara’s trauma and Clint’s disappearance had hit them all hard and a dark, oppressive mood saturated the Penthouse.  If it weren’t for Sara, Beth would rather be back in her own apartment surrounded by familiar, comforting chaos.

“I wish I could have done something more to help her.” Beth said, more to herself than Bucky, as he put his arms around her and drew her close “I may not have her abilities but I could sense how empty she felt; like all her dreams had been ripped away from her and there was nothing left.”

Photographs lay scattered across the coffee table.  Sara was laughing in all of them, looking radiant and carefree. Bucky picked one up, it had been taken in a park or garden somewhere and she’d threaded daisies in her hair, gleefully poking her tongue out at whoever took the picture.  She was petting Lucky so he guessed it must be Clint.  He’d not seen or heard her laugh since he met her, or even smile that much, mostly she looked worried or anxious. Beth picked up another photo and sighed deeply

“She was always so happy, full of life and hope; wanting to do everything immediately…” Her voice tailed off. The photo she picked up had Clint in it, staring cross-eyed at a dollop of ice-cream on the end of his nose. Even with the way Beth felt; the goofy, idiotic expression on his face made her smile a little

“Do you blame him?” Bucky asked quietly, Beth shook her head.

“I can’t, not really. He made her happy before all this started.  I just…” she put the picture down and turned to him “How do you explain that you don’t like someone because you have bad dreams about them?”

Bucky sat back and put his arm around her

“Maybe your gifts aren’t as latent as they thought” he suggested “That might have been a warning…”

“Much good it did us” Beth snuggled up against him, trying to shake that recurring image of Clint with blue fire in his eyes and a bloody knife in his hand. “I try not to hate him, James, and I know he loves Sara; but bad luck just seems to follow him everywhere and drag her down with him. Every time something terrible happens to her, he’s never far away and I’m really scared he’s going to get her killed.” 

Unless he gets himself killed first, thought Bucky, as he pulled her in close.  Coulson and the others might be doing everything they could to find Clint and bring him back alive, but there were other factions out there; fragments of S.H.I.E.L.D. pulling themselves back into coalition, that would have no hesitation in putting a bullet into the former Avenger’s head.

###

“You wanted to see me, Dr Whitehall?”

Daniel Whitehall looked up at the tall, blond-haired, woman standing before his desk.

“Miss Morse, thank you for coming;” he said, “and thank you for dealing with the mole in our midst.”

“It was my job, sir!” Bobbi Morse replied with a faint smile.  HYDRA was built on principles of betrayal, it was easy to make the higher echelons believe anyone was a traitor with the right impetus.

“And you did it well, efficiency should always be rewarded.” He gestured her to sit “In the meantime I have another task for you; one of considerable importance and delicacy.”

He nodded to Mr Bakshi who opened the file and placed it on the desk in front of her.

“Clint Barton?” she raised an eyebrow, looking at the first photograph in the folder

“You know him, I believe?” Dr Whitehall sat back in his chair and took the glass of sherry from Mr Bakshi, Bobbi shook her head in polite refusal of the one offered to her.

“I ran across him a few times before S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. He’s probably their best specialist, along with the Black Widow, unreliable though; and a bit of a bad reputation.”

“Better than you?” Mr Bakshi asked, with an ironic tilt of his head. Bobbi smiled thinly in response

“I know my abilities well enough not to over-estimate them” was her calm answer “Hand to hand I have a good chance of taking him down. If he gets you at a distance, there’s none deadlier.”

Dr Whitehall smiled in fain appreciation, honest self-assessment was a rare quality these days.

“We have information that Mr Garrett may be attempting to recruit him, using the man who raped the Baroness Sara von Strucker as bait.  Mr Garrett has proven himself to be a very persuasive recruiter in the past, and Agent Barton’s damaged state of mind makes him very vulnerable to persuasion.”

“Do you consider this a good thing or a bad thing, Dr Whitehall?” Bobbi’s directness caused a hissing intake of breath from Mr Bakshi. Dr Whitehall waved his hand slightly to pacify his subordinate.

“Mr Garrett’s motivations and intentions are unclear, and there are other elements in play” The previous evening’s conversation with Dr Lizt had been long and very direct.  What little patience Wolfgang von Strucker possessed was at an end. “The Baron wishes his cousins delivered to him safely, especially the Baroness Sara. I wish control of the Asset and to know exactly what Mr Garrett is up to.  It may be necessary to eliminate his operation if it proves inimical to our interests.”

“Understood, Dr Whitehall. What are my orders?” She closed the file and sat with her hands folded on her knee, awaiting instructions.

“I need you to infiltrate Mr Garrett’s operation and discover his goals” He gave her a long, penetrating look “Robert Gonzales still believes you work for him.  It might be useful for Mr Garrett to believe you’re betraying both of us.”

“And Agent Barton?” she asked

“If you have any doubts about his motivation or compliance, eliminate him.” He nodded to Bakshi who picked up the file and stood attentively at his master’s side “He’s too dangerous to be permitted to roam free. Mr Bakshi will provide you with the full mission briefing.”

Bobbi permitted herself a small, satisfied, smile as she left Dr Whitehall’s office.  She’d been looking for an opportunity to get even with Barton for some time, even before the rumours about his tainted loyalties began to spread.  The order to eliminate Clint Barton was one instruction from Whitehall that Bob Gonzales would heartily concur with.

###

Garrett checked the message on his phone.  Barton and Ward were four hours away from the hunting grounds.  He watched as the man was dumped unceremoniously on floor of the tumbledown cabin.  The tranquiliser would wear off in just under three hours, that would give him enough time to clear his head and get his bearings.  Had to make this shit look real if Barton was going to buy it wholesale.

He crouched down and tousled the unconscious Rumlow’s black hair

“Run, rabbit, run!” he grinned.


	30. Run, Rabbit, Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth tries to help her sister cope, as Sara struggles with the aftermath of Rumlow’s assault and her sense of responsibility for Clint’s disappearance.  
> Clint and Grant Ward find Rumlow’s trail and the hunt begins in earnest with Clint keeping the promise he made to Ward.  
> Steve confronts his feelings for Sara while Bobbi Morse and John Garrett enjoy some onion rings.  
> Steve, Bucky and Natasha join forces as Natasha makes her own position crystal clear.  
> Rumlow’s skills are tested to the max in an environment where Clint has the advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Violence, Strong Language, Aftermath of rape  
> Reviews and comments welcome

Sara tried not to shudder as Beth ran the brush through her hair, attempting to shut out the memories of Rumlow’s fingers tangled there as he forced his mouth to hers.  Beth paused, seeing her sister’s hands trembling.

“Are you okay?” she asked.  Sara shook her head, biting her lip slightly as she took the brush from her older sister.

“I’d like to finish this myself, if you don’t mind” she said quietly, staring at her reflection in the mirror. 

Beth had persuaded her not to cut her hair and the thick curls still spread over her shoulders. It was her first day out of bed and Beth had been sitting with her all morning, trying to keep her mind off where Clint might be and what he was doing.  It wasn’t working, even without the words being spoken she could feel everyone’s anxiety and uncertainty; the same way she’d sensed Rumlow’s…

She shook her head again slightly to banish that thought and began running the brush through her hair again. Okay, she wouldn’t cut it, for Beth’s sake, but maybe a different style? Something that couldn’t be so easily grabbed.  Beth sat with her hands in her lap and tried not to sigh, Sara had always enjoyed it when she brushed her hair for her; ever since they were little girls. Another piece of happiness stolen from them.

“Sara, I’m so sorry” she said “I wish I could do something to change all this. Maybe if I hadn’t been such a bitch to Clint…”

“You didn’t drive him to this, I did” Sara replied, still brushing. 100 times every night and morning, a ritual mother had insisted upon. “If I hadn’t been so stupid and selfish, he might still be here; not with… him.”

“It wasn’t selfish” Beth tried to assure her “You were…”

“I was a coward!” snapped Sara, laying the hairbrush down “I didn’t tell him how I felt, what I was going through inside.  Instead I waited till he was away and then…  He must hate me so much right now!”

Beth put her arms around Sara as her sister started to cry

“He doesn’t hate you, Little Sara” she said, holding her close “He loves you too much; even I can see that.”

She attempted a smile but Sara wasn’t looking at her

“Maybe he thinks I don’t love him anymore; that he’s got no reason to stay, or to hang on to the man he used to be…”

“I can’t answer for what’s going on in his head” Beth said firmly, keeping her arms around Sara “But I do know you’re not going to stop loving him any time soon, so you need to concentrate on getting well so you can help him out of this mess.”

Sara finally looked at her sister, the shadow of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

“I thought you didn’t like him?” she said, struggling to inject some humour into her voice. Beth raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t, but you love him; and that means I have to at least try and tolerate him.” She kissed Sara gently on the forehead “I’m going to be here for you all the way, Little Sara; no matter what it takes.”

Sara rested her head against Beth’s shoulder

“I don’t understand how he could do it. He knows what they’re like… what they’re capable of.” She looked up at her sister “Beth, I’m scared he’s going to do something terrible.”

Beth thought of the troubled, almost angry, look in Bucky and Steve’s eyes as they left on Garrett’s trail that morning and kissed her sister again.

“I think we all are…”

###

Clint signalled Ward to stay low as the two men cautiously circled round towards the derelict-looking cabin.  His eyes flicked from side to side; checking for traps, alarm systems or signs of movement.  He’d found a couple of traps already and deftly disarmed them. That hadn’t surprised him, Rumlow was an elite STRIKE Commando, trained in outdoor survival and wilderness warfare, he wouldn’t leave his den unprotected.  The ones he’d found had been skilfully laid. Rumlow was good at his trade, this was going to be a challenge. Clint’s mouth curved in a thin smile, his eyes cold and sharp, this was the kind of challenge he liked; the sort he’d revelled in as Ronin.  If this had been the old days, he might well have cut the price for a job like this because of the sport it offered.

There were a few shingles missing from the roof. Clint kept a close eye on those, possible sniper points, remembering the time he almost got cornered in a similar situation.  According to Garrett, Rumlow hadn’t grabbed much tech when he bolted but there was no way of telling what a guy like that might have got stashed away. 

The force of the concussion arrow going off inside the cabin smashed the remaining glass in the windows.  If there was anyone inside, they’d be well and truly stunned; the pressure springing any little surprise traps left for the unwary visitor. The two men moved fast in a zig-zag pattern, entering from opposite sides.  The cabin was small, a single room with a floored attic space and no cellar, a basic hunter’s hideaway.  Half of the attic floorboards were missing and the place had a damp musty smell.  Scuffs and boot-marks in the dust and debris on the floor gave evidence of recent occupancy.

“Someone’s been here” Ward said, looking round “No sure way to tell if it was Rumlow though.”

Ward had expected Rumlow to clear out as soon as he came around.  The guy might not be the smartest, but he wasn’t stupid and must have worked out he was being laid out as bait.  Anyone with a bit of common sense would high-tail it out.  He didn’t reckon Garrett to have left him much in the way of kit either.

“Boot prints are pretty generic” Clint cast a critical eye over what little evidence there was “Could be someone of Rumlow’s height and build but, yeah, no way to tell.”

_If it was me, I’d be lurking outside, ready to pick us off when we came out._

He clambered up into the attic, using the gaps in the shingles to check the surrounding woodland.  It was dense, plenty of possible cover but little sign of recent disturbance.  There was a service track for the local loggers a few miles to the north-west of here.  That would be the most likely route for a quick exit out of trouble.  He pulled the micro-binoculars out of his pocket and scanned in that direction, after a few seconds he began to smile again.

“Looks all clear out there, let’s get moving” Clint said, sliding down the ladder. He patted Ward on the shoulder “You done good, son!”

“Tha…” Ward began, his eyes widening as something flicked across his throat and his breath cut out.  He barely had time to register Clint’s smile and the flash of steel between his fingers before the blood started to gush out. He dropped to his knees, hands trying to staunch the flow and close his windpipe. Clint crouched down in front of him, grabbing his hair and showing him the tiny, hooked, blade hidden in the palm of his hand.

“Promised you wouldn’t end up like Rumlow” Clint’s voice was steady and emotionless as he looked into Ward’s desperate, staring, eyes “Never said I wouldn’t kill you.”

He pushed the younger man back and wiped the blade on the leg of his pants; calmly rummaging through Ward’s backpack for anything of use while watching the man bleed out. It didn’t take long before he stopped twitching and Clint caught the sharp stink of bowels and bladder evacuating. He hefted his own backpack onto his shoulder. Time to go.

###

They hadn't bothered tidying up in here when the Project Delphi base was evacuated.  The room still showed the signs of the struggle; an overturned table, broken ornaments, the stained, torn sheets on the bed.  Steve gritted his teeth, muscles working along the lines of his jaw, remembering the look of hungry pleasure on Rumlow's face as he wielded the taser batons in the Triskelion elevator. The man enjoyed hurting people. Sara... she wouldn't have stood a chance. 

He hadn't imagined any other woman could affect him the way Peggy did until he saw her coming down the steps that evening; shyly smiling, in that green dress and rose jacket, face framed by golden red curls of hair.  The way his heart lifted when she spoke to him, and then sank when he found out she was with Barton. 

He shouldn't be jealous, but sometimes he couldn't help himself. There had been times, when Barton was still on the run, that the urge to admit his feelings had been almost overpowering. He'd broken a few punchbags on those occasions.  He wasn't that kinda guy.

Something on the floor by the nightstand caught his attention.  Sara's wristwatch, lying under a broken lamp. He picked it up carefully. He'd bought it for her birthday, a vintage 1940's ladies one that really suited her style, worrying that it was too obviously extravagant a gift. She'd accepted it with gratitude and a chaste kiss, always worn it, a mute acknowledgement that she knew how he felt and respected his restraint. 

_I never would have let this happen to you, Sara, never in a million years_

"Jesus" muttered Tony, standing in the doorway "What a fucking mess"

"Do you think she'll want this back?" Steve asked, showing him the wristwatch. 

"It was from you" Tony said quietly, devoid of his habitual sarcasm "Of course she will"

He sighed 

"Skye's looking through what's left of the systems, they burned them out pretty thoroughly but she thinks some of the data might be recoverable. No obvious leads on where Garrett and Co are now, and no trace of Clint."

"He wasn't here" Steve sounded certain "If he saw this, the place would be full of bodies."

"There's still a chance for him..." Tony began, Steve turned to him sharply 

"Even if there wasn't, do you think I'd give up on him?" he paused, when he spoke again his voice was quiet and sad "I don't give up on my friends, Tony, no matter what."

There was a moment of silence before Tony spoke 

"Reason I came looking for you is I got a message from Romanoff. She thinks she might have a lead on where Clint and Ward are, wants to meet up with you and Bucky"

"We'll get him back, Tony" Steve promised him "Alive and intact"

Tony nodded, casting a final glance around the room as Steve headed off to find Bucky 

_If he lets you, Capsicle_  

###

"Try the onion rings" Garrett suggested "For the life of me I got no idea how the cook gets them to stay so crispy!”

"You finally got the dinner date you wanted" said Bobbi, with a dry smile. This out of the way biker bar had a remarkably good menu to offer. There were only about half a dozen patrons at this time of day and she was willing to bet each one of them was on Garrett's payroll. He grinned 

"Hell, if I'd known a 'Hail HYDRA' was all it took we coulda done this years back; assuming you're really with HYDRA and not a double Agent."

His eyes remained cold and suspicious, despite the amiable grin. 

"Why not a triple, or even quadruple, agent" she laughed "You know I never lay all my cards on the table."

“Smart move” said Garrett, setting down his drink “So Whitehall wants to know what I’m up to; what’s wrong, too good to pick up the phone?”

Bobbi took an onion ring from the basket and crunched on it.

“You’re right, they are crispy” she smiled “and Whitehall has the feeling that you might not be entirely forthright with him, so he asked me to investigate.”

Garrett sat back; he’d known Bobbi for years and suspected for some time that she was with HYDRA.  He’d also suspected that, like him, she had some private agenda of her own. As a specialist, she was noted for ruthless efficiency, no quarter asked or given, with a maverick touch that put her in the same league with Barton and Romanoff.  Like them, she’d come from outside S.H.I.E.L.D. and didn’t take too kindly to people prying into her history.

“And you’re telling me this up front because…?” Garrett raised a questioning eyebrow. 

Bobbi took a mouthful of beer and leaned forward. She saw Garrett tense ever so slightly and give the faintest shake of the head to the bikers seated at the bar. 

“Pierce was right about one thing. The current HYDRA leadership? Dinosaurs!  You were pushing forward Deathlock and Centipede while they drank sherry and quoted dead Germans.  When Rogers blasted everything wide open and they squabbled over who claimed what; you were stripping the Fridge bare.”

“So, you’d rather gamble on my hand than Whitehall’s? That it?”  Garrett sounded intrigued, but far from convinced, and Bobbi knew the wily veteran better than to try and bluff.

“I like to have my options open” she said “And the options you offer seem more my type of thing than sucking up to Whitehall and dancing round Sunil Bakshi. All they can think of is the Asset and the von Strucker sisters; it’s like Coulson and his damn memorabilia.”

“And what about Barton? If we’re discussing cards on the table.”  Garrett was intrigued. Bobbi had always been upfront when it came to getting what she wanted. Whitehall’s operation never really seemed her kind of thing, but her turning up just while he was reeling Barton in seemed a bit too much of a coincidence.

“Playing the Joker already?” Bobbi laughed “Whitehall wants him to ‘comply or die’; you too if necessary. He thinks you’re both dangerous loose ends”

It was Garretts turn to laugh. He leaned forward as well, resting his elbows on the table

“Hell, ain’t that the truth! And you seem hell bent on being the world’s first quadruple agent. How can I be sure you ain’t planning on quintuple-crossing me?”

“You can’t” she grinned, crunching down on another onion ring. “That’s what makes it exciting.”

###

Natasha had arranged to meet them in a run-down transient hotel, the sort of place where the staff make a business of not noticing things.  The rheumy eyed desk-clerk peered at Steve and Bucky through his hatch.

“You want it by the hour or the night?” he asked

“Just a couple of hours” Steve mumbled, shoving the money across and trying not to go red as the clerk looked at him and Bucky with a sly grin. He’d learned enough about her dry, warped, sense of humour to know she’d chosen this location on purpose.

“We sell lube and poppers, if you need ‘em?” the clerk offered, helpfully, handing the key to Steve. He shook his head mutely and the two men headed up the stairs, the clerk chuckling wetly to himself as they went.

The room was surprisingly clean, although stale smelling, while the vivid lime and orange colour scheme appeared designed to encourage nausea rather than romance or restful sleep.  Natasha turned up after half an hour with three bottles of poppers in her hand.

“I’ve not seen this brand outside Amsterdam” she said with a smile, throwing each of them a bottle “The desk clerk said you were too shy to ask for them yourselves.”

Bucky laughed while Steve looked simultaneously embarrassed and annoyed

“Natasha…” he began

“He’s an old contact of mine from way back” she laughed “This place may seem like a seedy dump, because it is, but it’s also one of my personal safe houses.  No one will know we’re here”

“Yeah, I’m kinda glad about that” Steve muttered, still holding the small bottle awkwardly in his hands.  Bucky shoved the one Natasha threw to him into the pocket of his jeans.

“What?” he said, in response to Steve’s frowning look “I know what they are; Beth and I…”

“Okay!” said Steve, turning his attention rapidly back to Natasha “What’ve you found out?”

She’d tracked Clint and Ward as far as she could along the main highways north west, before they started vanishing onto the smaller country roads; avoiding the ubiquitous cameras along the major routes, but the sightings have been enough to give her a good idea of where they were headed.

“Can you be sure?” Bucky asked, looking at the map.  Only a couple of small towns and a few roads appeared amidst the expanse of forest.

“It’s an area Clint knows well” she told them “It used to be used for S.H.I.E.L.D. wilderness training exercises back when he first joined up, before they relocated those to Alaska. He also…”

Her voice faded and her gaze dropped for a moment before she continued

“He also talked about buying some land up there. Building a cabin when the kids were older. I can’t be 100% sure but it’s too much of a coincidence.  If Garrett is setting up some sort of trap for Clint it’ll be there”

“I still find all that hard to take in” Steve said, shaking his head. “It’s starting to feel like I never really knew the guy.”

“You didn’t” Natasha said bluntly, looking up at him “You never knew Clint, all you knew was the man S.H.I.E.L.D. created to replace him. Now that man’s gone and I want my friend back, regardless of the cost. I want him back for me, and I want him back for Sara.  I failed him once, I’m not going to do it again and if anyone gets in my way I’ll kill them”

There was a fierceness about her; a fire and passion in her voice that neither man had ever seen before, something long buried by the iron discipline of the Red Room rising to the surface.

“You’re either with me, or you don’t get in my way. Understood?”

Steve and Bucky looked at each other for a moment and nodded.

###

Rumlow was no fool. He was being hunted, and he knew who the hunter was.  Only one reason Garrett would keep him locked up, tranquilise him then dump him out here in the wilds. He was being used as bait for Clint Barton.  He should have known that shark-eyed motherfucker was up to something.  Well, Brock Rumlow wasn’t going to roll over and show his belly that easily. Maybe he’d even give Barton a little taste of what his girlfriend got, before he finished him and went to have words with Garrett.

With a guy like Barton, not seeing or hearing him was no guarantee he wasn’t there. Rumlow wasn’t so dumb as to go straight north-west, that was a sure way to get caught, instead he was looping round and back repeatedly. If he could catch a glimpse of Barton he could get on his trail, turn the tables, and do some hunting himself.  He kept his gaze up as much as on the ground.  Hawkeye liked to get up high, everyone knew that, and rumour said he’d been a carny at one time so it wouldn’t surprise him if the little fucker was doing a Tarzan act through the trees.

The human body isn’t designed to be constantly on the move. Even a hunted man needs to rest, eat, sleep, piss and shit; all of which leaves him vulnerable, especially if he’s having to live off the land.  Garrett had been ‘kind’ enough to provide him with a six pack of power bars and some bottled water with the rest of the, very basic, survival equipment he’d been left.  The choice was keep trying to forage and get the jump on Barton, or make a break for it, heading for the nearest road or population centre and get clear that way. 

It had to be soon. He’d double back one more time, follow the dry river bed to where it curved near the road then risk the cross-country dash and carjack the first fucker who came along.

Clint snuggled down under the root-mass of a fallen tree, wrapped in the camo-blanket he’d pillaged from Ward’s backpack. Some new piece of tech that blended into the background with a chameleon like effect.  It must’ve come out not long before everything came crashing down.  Nice find, worth keeping hold of.  He’d got Rumlow’s pattern figured out now; up and moving before dawn, probably trying another loop round.  Classic stealth and evasion.  Too classic, unfortunately, Clint knew this ground well from way back; old tactical exercises for this sort of scenario.  Rumlow’s options were limited and Clint had them well pegged out.

He could have taken the man down three or four times now, but Clint wanted to wait. He wanted Rumlow to think he was free and clear. Hear him sigh with relief before he made him scream.

 

 

 

 


	31. Nadir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha, Steve and Bucky find the first tangible signs of Clint’s trail, and plan their next move, while Clint embarks on the end-game.  
> The newest member of the Avengers volunteers to break some difficult news to Sara and she is forced to face the truth that she may be the only person able to save Clint from the consequences of his actions.  
> Steve and Coulson settle their differences to cement a much-needed alliance  
> Clint finally comes face to face with Rumlow and prepares to exact his vengeance, but has he become the monster he’s been hunting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Strong Language, Violence, Referenced Rape, Implied Torture, Implied Male Rape  
> Reviews and comments welcome

The scavengers had already been at work, but there was enough left of the face for them to be sure the body was that of Grant Ward.

“At least we can tell Coulson he doesn’t have to worry about Ward anymore” Natasha said as she stepped around the remains, examining the cabin.  The break patterns in the glass said concussion arrow.  Clint had definitely been here.

“I’m sure that’ll cheer him up no end” Steve replied dryly.  At least it meant there was a body to hand over to the FBI; they would still have questions but Coulson had a knack for tying up loose ends. 

“There are tracks leading to the north-west, but they fade out after a few yards.” Bucky said as he came back in.  They looked a few days old, which fitted with the state of Ward’s body, but were still quite sharp.  The sneaker prints were the same size and brand Clint favoured.

“Let me guess, lots of boulders and fallen trees?” Natasha asked.  Clint liked to keep his feet off the ground as much as possible.  Made him harder to track and he enjoyed the challenge.  He used to drive Laura crazy with his ‘no-floor’ days, trying to get around the homestead without setting foot on the ground once.  The memory made her pause and sigh; being around his family had brought out an innocence and joyfulness in her friend, a hint of who he would have been if life hadn’t seemed determined to tear him to pieces since birth.  She hated what he was doing, even as much as she understood why; there was only so much pain a man could take before saying ‘no more’.

Steve and Bucky left her with her thoughts for a moment, heading outside to clear the stink of the cabin from their nostrils.

“Do you think he’s still out there?” Steve asked, looking around at the surrounding woods. Bucky shook his head.

“If I was Rumlow I’d be getting as far away as possible.  Wherever he is, Clint’s not going to be far behind.” 

Even if S.H.I.E.L.D.’s supposedly comprehensive surveillance mechanisms were still functional, a man like Barton would be hard to find if he wanted to vanish.  Both Stark and Coulson were currently having to piggyback and hack other systems to gain intelligence information.  Security services depended on people believing they knew more than they did.  You only had to know where the gaps were in order to slide through them.

“Rumlow’s a pack animal” Natasha said, as she joined them in the fresh air. “He’s going to head towards a city, lose himself in the crowd. Seattle’s too small and too obvious a choice from here.  I’d head for Los Angeles, big, anonymous and an easy place to disappear in.”

Steve nodded in agreement.  Clint might be hard to track but Rumlow’s trail could be easier to pick up and Bucky was right; Clint wouldn’t be far behind him.  He pulled out his phone.

“I’ll call this in to Coulson” Ward had been Coulson’s man, or so Phil had believed, he deserved to know.  Steve still had his issues with the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, but he was based closer to where they had to be and allies were in short supply right now.

###

Clint sat on the bed, checking his equipment, whistling softly to himself. He knew that time was limited.  Natasha would almost certainly have located the cabin, and Ward's body, by now. She’d be trying to catch his scent. He'd not left much trace but Natasha was good, and not inclined to give up. He'd never even considered that she wouldn't come after him; he would, if the situation was reversed. He'd move heaven and hell to find her.  This wasn't going to end up like Budapest though, too much had changed and he needed to stay one step ahead or one of them was going to end up pulling the trigger this time.

He put down his bow and looked over at the photograph propped against the lamp on the nightstand; Sara pushing back her hair with one hand and laughing as she tried to bite at the cotton candy he taunted her with from behind the camera

_"Why aren't you with her? She needs you."_ that treacherous little voice inside asked him again. He shook his head angrily to rid himself of the thought.  As long as Rumlow was alive she wasn't safe.  Once he'd done this, then he'd go back and take her somewhere safe. Somewhere no one would find her.  Garrett had promised him that and so far, he'd kept his word. The man was like him, a loner the world had chewed up and spat out. The two of them had to stand back to back or get trampled on.  Sara would understand, she'd know he was only doing this for her. 

His phone rang, three rings then silence, after a few seconds it started ringing again and he answered it on the second. Like Natasha he had his own network of contacts independent of SHIELD, you needed that in this line of work, and some of them he almost trusted. A guy fitting Rumlow's description had checked in to a fleabag hotel in a rundown neighbourhood. The call was followed by a picture message; the hair was cropped and fortnight's worth of beard gone but there was no mistaking the face.

Clint smiled but his eyes were hard and cold as he swiftly and efficiently packed his holdall. He'd given Rumlow just enough space to start thinking he was clear. Time to show him just how wrong he was.

###

"Do you want to tell her, or would you rather it came from me?" Tony raised a questioning eyebrow as he topped up Beth's drink.

"I probably ought to" Beth sighed "At least we know Clint's alive" 

"Well, at least he was a few days ago" said Bruce, with a note of caution. 

Tony shook his head 

"Garrett's got something planned for Clint. He's going to keep him alive at least until Rumlow's been dispatched. That man doesn't like tidying up his own loose ends if he can help it."

Beth cradled the glass in her hands, the pleasing chill of the ice soaking into her skin. She honestly wasn't sure how Sara would take the news of Ward's death. There was something clinically casual about it that seemed more in tune with the killer than the man Sara believed Clint to be. She was still blaming herself for him running off again, if she started to believe he was turning back into the stone-cold assassin he'd once been it could put even more pressure on her at a time when she was already fragile.

She took a drink and stared down into her glass.

"I just don't think I can trust myself to be impartial" she said quietly "and the last thing Sara needs is to believe she's turned Clint to the dark side."

“You need to be careful.” Sam said, the others turning to look at him. 

The former airman, Steve’s friend, was new to the team; brought in after the Fall of S.H.I.E.L.D.  He’d proved a valuable asset, Tony had almost jizzed in his pants to finally get hold of a set of the Falcon Project wings to play with and enhance, and he’d already established himself as a man who liked to think twice before speaking once.  He’d never met this Barton guy everyone seemed so concerned about, but he found himself empathising with what Dr Banner had told him.  An ordinary Joe like him, cutting a place for himself in extraordinary circumstances, who’d been dragged through hell and back over the last two years. Hell, if someone had laid hands on his lady the way Rumlow had treated Barton’s, he wouldn’t care who he had to deal with to bring the motherfucker down.

He cleared his throat and continued.

“Sure, this is the guy that kidnapped Sara; but he’s also the guy that got her to hospital in time to save her life.  I get he’s some kinda traitor, and no-one’s shedding any tears over him, but she might have a different perspective.”

“You’re thinking Sara might not react well to the news?” Bruce asked

“PTSD’s a complex thing” Sam said “She’s been through a major trauma, and people in that situation sometimes cling to anyone or anything that’s helped them as a kinda lifeline.  I ain’t talking full Stockholm Syndrome but it’s a similar mechanism.”

Tony took a long drink and sighed

“Sara’s a difficult woman to keep secrets from, Sam; maybe you should be the one to tell her?”

Sam glanced at Beth nervously.  The older woman was intensely protective of her sister and he didn’t want to go treading on any toes.

“I don’t want to intrude on…” he began. Beth smiled and shook her head.

“You’d be doing us all a favour I think; this is the sort of thing you’re good at, and you don’t have any agenda where Clint’s concerned.”

“Okay, I’ll speak to her after breakfast tomorrow.” He took a deep breath and extended his empty glass to Tony “Another one of those Manhattans?”

###

It was a difficult conversation, just how Sam expected it would me.  Sara was a civilian; a wealthy, sheltered young woman who’d been a stranger to violence until the past few weeks and was still trying to cling to her old certainties amid the chaos that had intruded into her life. 

“I know Ward was with HYDRA, and he was the one who took me” she said, twisting a napkin in her hands and staring at the remains of her breakfast on the tray “but I would have died if he hadn’t got me to the hospital.”

“And you wouldn’t have been in that danger if he hadn’t seized you at gunpoint” Sam gently reminded her “Tony and Steve think this whole thing was set up by this Garrett guy to bait a trap for Clint; that he was the one they were really after.”

Sara looked at him with slight surprise and a hint of denial

“But it’s me… my abilities, that he wants.”

Sam grinned, pouring her some more coffee

“No disrespect, Sara, but if I had the choice between the best specialist S.H.I.E.L.D. had to offer and a bunch of dreams and visions, I know which I’d choose.” He set the coffee pot back down on the tray “I reckon he thinks that if he can get Barton, he gets you as well, is he right?”

Sara took a deep, shaky breath, pressing her hands to her face, feeling herself trembling all over.  The nightmare wouldn’t stop, it just kept getting worse. What Sam said was pure theorising but she could feel the weight of truth in it; Garrett was trying to turn Clint into his personal assassin and he’d let Rumlow destroy her as part of that plan, sacrificing Grant Ward in the process.  Ward had been weak, easily manipulated, that was certain; but he hadn’t radiated that nauseating stench of evil that seemed to surround Garrett.  He must have known Clint would kill Ward at some point along the way.

_His blood is on Garrett’s hands, not Clint’s. He’s using him, the way he used Grant._

“My real name’s Sara von Strucker” she said softly, the name felt strange on her tongue but perhaps Beth was right; they ought to reclaim it, throw it back in HYDRA’s face that at least two von Struckers refused to serve their twisted agenda.  As she looked at Sam he could see the hint of steel and fire behind the tears in her green eyes and her voice slowly became firmer and more vehement as she spoke. “My parents and grandparents served HYDRA. I know what these people do and what they’re capable of.  I would die rather than submit to them and I will never see Clint go down that path.”

The frightened girl had vanished, at least for the moment, and Sam caught a glimpse of a woman prepared to fight with tooth and nail to protect what she loved.  He leaned forward earnestly.

“Well… Miss von Strucker, you’re gonna have to be strong.  I ain’t no psychic or clairvoyant, but right now I reckon you might be the only person who can stop this guy doing something he’s never gonna be able to escape from.”

“Sam…” Sara swallowed, her nervousness returning, she hardly knew this man but she could feel the fire in him; the open honesty that had won him Steve’s friendship “Will you help me? Will you help me save Clint?”

Sam nodded

“You seem to think he’s worth saving, so does Steve, that’s good enough for me.  I’ll help you do whatever it takes.”

###

“Ward’s dead” Coulson said quietly, putting his phone back into his pocket “Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff are bringing the body here for an autopsy.”

“How…?” Skye began, biting her lip, uncertain of what to say. The guy had been a traitor and a murderer, but he’d also been her friend for over a year and she wasn’t sure how she felt right now.  Coulson looked like the same conflicting emotions were raging in him.

“They think it was Barton, throat cut with a single blow. No sign of defensive wounds but we can’t be sure until the body’s been examined properly.  It was lying out for a few days and…”

He turned towards the window with a deep sigh, hiding his expression from the two women.

“This must have been his plan all along” Agent May said “Use Ward to get him so far along the trail to Rumlow and dispose of him once he stopped being useful.”

Her voice was neutral, suggesting neither approval or disapproval, and whatever feelings she had about her former lover’s death were carefully locked away.

“And eight people died to get him to that point.” Coulson turned to face them.  He didn’t appear angry or grieving, just resigned to doing a difficult job “At least we have a body to hand over to the F.B.I. and get some of that heat off our backs.”

“When are Rogers and Romanoff arriving?” May asked.  Jemma would have to do the autopsy.  She wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news to her or Fitz. 

“In about three hours” Coulson paused and took another deep breath “Sgt Barnes is with them.”

Skye’s eye widened

“The Win…?”

“Sgt Barnes!” he repeated, emphatically, looking sternly at them both. “He’s fully vouched for by Captain Rogers.  I made a mistake with Barton, one that may have contributed to this situation.  I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”

“He’s still officially a wanted criminal” May reminded him, again her tone remained neutral. Coulson took that as a sign of tacit agreement. If Melinda though he was making a bad call she would have no hesitation making that opinion crystal clear.

Coulson gave a small snort of ironic amusement

“So are we.”         

###

Steve hadn’t been happy that Coulson wanted to speak to him in private first, but Natasha and Bucky guessed there were things that had to pass between the two men best unheard by others. ‘Maybe Phil’s collected a new set of trading cards and wants to make sure you sign these ones!’ she’d whispered to him before he went in, raising a faint smile and lowering the tension.  She and Bucky waited in the ante-room of Coulson’s office, away from prying eyes but under the watchful gaze of Agent Melinda May.  Natasha had never met the woman but was aware of her reputation and history; a good ally but a formidable opponent.  Phil had picked his team well, maybe not quite well enough in retrospect, but HYDRA’s treachery had taken them all by surprise.

The two men joined them after a few minutes.  The chill between them diminished but still detectable. She gave Phil the briefest of sympathetic glances.  He’d chosen to follow Fury’s orders the same way she had and could see the regret in his eyes as they met hers.  The two of them would need to have their own private talk when time permitted; if only to share their grief over Laura and their fears for Clint.

“We don’t have many people on the ground in the Los Angeles area” Coulson admitted “The L.A. Field Office was heavily compromised.  Most loyal agents didn’t survive the first strike and those who did are under deep cover.”

He’d got Skye hacking into the L.A. traffic cameras and any other security systems they could access, hoping to pick up a trace of either man.  At her prompting he’d agreed, reluctantly, to link their systems into Jarvis to expedite the search but it was still a needle and haystack situation.  He agreed with Natasha’s assessment, if they were going to find anyone it would be Rumlow; Clint was too good at vanishing.

“So, you’re telling us Clint’s deep in enemy territory and we’re still flying blind?” Steve asked.  Coulson nodded

“That’s the kind of environment he functions best in; on his own and off the grid” he looked across at Natasha and Bucky “I doubt we’ll find Rumlow before he does.”

Natasha shrugged; Clint could slice Brock into fillets while he was still breathing for all she cared

“Rumlow’s dead meat” growled Bucky, tense and ill-at-ease in this S.H.I.E.L.D. base, aware of the cloud of suspicion that still surrounded him “We just want to stop Clint getting in any deeper than he already is.”

“I’ll give you what support I can” Phil promised cautiously “But my own resources are spread thin and there are a lot of interested parties out there.”

“We can provide you with backup on the” Steve assured him “I know Stark’s got his own agenda, but we need to be working together; and not just to find Clint.”

It wouldn’t be easy, they all knew that, there was still a lot of distrust and bad feeling on both sides; but Steve was right.  If the teams couldn’t cooperate, they might as well hand victory to HYDRA on a plate.

###

Rumlow wasn’t stupid enough to wait inside the rendezvous point.  His contact may have all the right code-phrases but that didn’t mean this wasn’t still part of whatever game Garrett was playing.  If this guy didn’t have some serious answers he’d be dog food.  The place was a warren, an abandoned industrial complex covered in graffiti and stinking of piss, stale and fresh.  A handful of junkies lay passed out on, or stared blankly at him from, stained mattresses as he moved deeper into the building, gun at the ready.

The guy was waiting for him in the dynamo room as agreed; an old black dude with thick white hair and a deeply scarred face.

“Okay” Rumlow growled, levelling his gun at the man’s face. “What you got for me?”

“Just one message” the old man said, his voice high and hoarse “Boo!”

Something hit Rumlow hard in the back of the neck, he was unconscious before he hit the floor.

“Great job” Clint said as he finished securing Rumlow’s wrists and ankles with cable ties.  He handed the old man three $50 bills and then fished a small baggie of white powder out of his pocket “Careful with that, it’s pretty pure.”

“I ain’t stupid, man; this is worth ten times what you given me courtesy of a little baby powder” the old guy chuckled. He pointed to the unconscious Rumlow. “What this guy do to you, anyways?”

Clint looked up at him, his eyes cold and grim.

“He raped my girlfriend.”

The old man’s face hardened and he kicked Rumlow in the crotch

“Compliments of the house” he said, shoving the money and the drugs deep into his pocket as he left.

###

Clint perched on the edge of a dust-covered metal table, smoking a cigarette while waiting for Rumlow to regain consciousness.  He was in no rush.  The dynamo room was deep in the bowels of the old factory complex.  Thick concrete walls would muffle any sounds and the chair jammed under the door-handle should suffice to keep out any roaming meth-heads.

It wasn’t long before Rumlow made a low moaning sound and his head began to move. He lay face-down on the floor, wrists and ankles secured.  Clint watched while the man slowly began to wake and focus, swearing quietly to himself as he tested his restraints, before jumping down off the table and rolling him onto his back.

“Barton!” Rumlow snarled “Shoulda fucking known. Not got the balls to take me down face to face?”

Clint patted him on the face then walked back over to the table as Rumlow struggled and swore.

“Ain’t interested in proving who’s the better man here” he said, taking out a bottle of beer and opening it.  It was going to be a long, thirsty, night and he’d come well supplied with everything he might need. “Just in scraping a piece of shit off my boot-heel.”

“Fuck you! Mr High and Mighty” spat Rumlow “I know your record, you don’t smell so good yourself.  Think that fancy piece of ass you got would look at you the same if she knew what you did in Kandahar?”

“Keep talking, Brock; ‘cause you’re in for a bad night as it is, and there ain’t that much you can say to make it go any easier on you.” Clint took a long drink of beer, his eyes fixed on Rumlow

Brock’s mind raced, he could see the cold, almost psychotic, look in Clint’s eyes.  Like a lot of men who enjoyed inflicting pain, the thought of being on the receiving end didn’t appeal to him.

“Look man, Garrett’s using you; that’s how the motherfucker works…”

Clint walked back over and kicked him hard in the side, making him twist and cry out.

“Yeah? And was he ‘using’ you when you raped Sara?  See, I got the doctors report here; tells me pretty much exactly what you did to her and how.” Clint pulled his jacket off and hung it from one of the pipes. “Now, I ain’t religious but, between the drinking and the beatings my daddy was an Old Testament kinda guy; ‘eye for an eye’ and all that shit.  Kinda sticks with you after a while…”

“Fuck you, you chickenshit piece o’ white trash!” spat Rumlow “I made that little redhaired bitch scream louder than you could!”

Clint nodded calmly, lighting another cigarette while he read over Jessica’s detailed report.  She was thorough, careful questioning had even allowed her to determine the object that had caused so much internal damage.  He’d not been able to stop crying the first couple of times he read it. Now he could probably recite it with his eyes shut. 

He put the report back in his jacket pocket and took a long draw on his cigarette.

“Yeah, I know. And before we start the main event, you’re gonna go through everything you put her through; allowing for anatomical differences.  I’ll give you one choice though, and it’s the only one you get; so, think carefully”

“You can stick your choices up your motherfuckin’ ass, Barton!” yelled Rumlow “I ain’t giving you shit!”

Clint smirked, his eyes glacially cold.

“Oughta be more careful with your words, Brock! Tell me, what do you want first? This…?” He squeezed his crotch, then grinned and pulled the stun baton out of his bag “Or this…?”


	32. The Way Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge is a dish best served cold, but sometimes better taken in small doses.   
> Clint finds himself confronted by the aftermath of what he’s done and a sudden, painful awakening.  
> A surprise visitor for Dr Palmer leads to a long-awaited re-union, while another surprise meeting is less welcoming for one of the parties involved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Strong language, referenced torture  
> Reviews and comments welcome

Rumlow had died an hour ago.  Only in the movies do people need the cliché 'is he dead?' Clint had seen enough death, dealt out plenty of it, to be intimately familiar with the moment where a body ceased to be a living thing and became meat. He lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply, feeling the dried blood flaking on the skin of his arms and face. For once it wasn't his own. He'd been sitting here, smoking and drinking the last of the beer, since the point Rumlow's body slackened and became nothing more than 190lbs of scavenger chow. 

This place was swarming with rats and they'd make short work of the meal on offer here. It might be weeks, or months, before anyone found the body this deep in the abandoned industrial complex and there wouldn’t be much left to find.  Any of the meth heads who got this far in would be more interested in any saleable items than calling the cops and it wasn't as if anyone was going to be reporting Rumlow missing.

Clint took a bottle of surgical spirit and a cloth out of his bag, cleaning away the most visible blood before pulling his t shirt back on. He took a long hard look at Rumlow's body.  It hadn't felt as satisfying as he imagined.  The guy was just the latest in a long line of assholes who chose to take a shit on Clint Barton's life. Sure, Brock's last night alive had been pretty unpleasant, but now he'd reached the end while Clint had to confront what came next. Felt kinda unfair when you thought about it that way.

He put his jacket on and zipped up his bag. He'd need a proper shower but he was clean enough to get back to that ratty hotel without anyone noticing.  The drive back through the pre-dawn light went quickly and the sleepy-eyed night clerk barely registered his presence. Locking the door behind him, Clint threw his bag onto the bed and stripped off, turning the shower temperature up as high as it would go.  In this place that was barely above lukewarm.

As the water began to run over his skin, the nausea hit him like a blow in the guts.  He dropped to all fours in the tub as his stomach emptied itself in great, churning, heaves. There wasn't much to come up, just the last couple of beers, but the retching didn't subside until he was clinging onto the side of the bath, shaking uncontrollably.

Death wasn't a stranger to him, far away or close up, he was the go-to guy for the swift, efficient, kill. That had been Ronin's hallmark and the thing that made him so valuable to SHIELD. He hadn't killed Rumlow, though, he'd disassembled him with the same care and precision he'd use taking apart a piece of machinery. 

In some part of his mind it hadn't been Rumlow trussed up on the floor, yelling and howling as Clint thought up some new agony to inflict, it was dad, ‘Uncle Joey’, Barney, Duquesne, Haus & Rooney, those Ten Rings cunts in Tajikistan, Loki; everyone who'd ever made Clint Barton scream and beg for it to stop.

After a while, what Rumlow had done to Sara scarcely seemed to matter and Clint was just enjoying hurting and humiliating someone in all the ways it had been done to him.  By the time he finished shaking, Clint was balled up at the far end of the tub staring at the last of his stomach contents slowly swirling down the drain. 

_What have I done? Oh Jesus, what have I become?_

###

Dr Jessica Palmer had always been a light sleeper and so the sound of the cat jumping onto a worktop in the kitchen easily brought her towards waking.  After a couple of seconds her eyes snapped wide open.

_I don’t have a cat._

She didn’t notice any further noises as she moved quietly downstairs with her gun ready.  Seven years working in close proximity to Tony Stark had taught her a few lessons about the value of effective self-defence.  The kitchen light was on and as she drew near to the bottom of the stairs a familiar, soft, gruff voice spoke.

“Dr Palmer, it’s me. Clint Barton.”

She was the only person he could think of to approach as he made his way back to New York.  Going straight to the Penthouse was out of the question; too many accusing stares and questions he didn’t feel capable of answering.  He needed someone he could trust, who knew everyone but wasn’t part of the team.  Jessica Palmer was his only real option.  Somehow he’d imagined her home would be as clinically sterile and precise as her office and manner.  The homely mess and clutter surprised him, while Dr Palmer, with her hair down and wearing a red plaid dressing gown, looked like any other early-middle-aged woman encountering a surprise visitor at 3am.

Jessica put the safety catch back on and slipped the gun into her dressing gown pocket.  It was the same type of Glock he used and she handled it well.

“I see you graduated from the Tony Stark School of Respecting Personal Space.” She said sharply.

Clint couldn’t meet her steady gaze.

“I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“I do have a phone” Jessica folded her arms and stared at Clint, sitting on the far side of the kitchen table; she wanted to scream at him, but the girls were asleep upstairs and besides, she'd never seen any man look so empty and beaten. Still, he had to hear the truth.

"I've listened to that poor girl crying for days because she blames herself for all of this, and the one person she needed most was too busy rubbing shoulders with John Fucking Garrett on his personal murder quest!"

"Jessica, I..." he began. Anger he could have coped with, but the cold sadness in her voice was almost too much to bear.

"Don't even think of telling me this was all about Sara, because if it was you would have been the one by her side when she woke up; holding her and telling her how much you love her." Jessica walked over to the coffee machine and started filling it up "This was all about you making yourself feel less guilty and by the looks of it I don't think that's worked out too well for you, has it?"

Clint stared at the tiled floor of Dr Palmer's kitchen, still feeling the sting and the sharp truth in her words. Eventually he raised his eyes to hers and she could see the pain and confusion in them.

"Je... Jessica," he stammered "I've really fu-fucked up and I don't know how I'm gonna fix this."  
Jessica sighed and picked up her phone.

"I do NOT get paid enough for this" she muttered as she dialled.

"Who are you calling?" he asked nervously

"Probably the only person who's not going to smack you in the face the minute he sees you" she said, holding up a finger for silence as her call was answered "Hi Bruce! Jess here... I know it's late but, that 'situation' we talked about? Yeah... it's in my kitchen right now."

“Mom? Is everything ok?” a girl’s voice called gently from the upstairs landing as Jessica hung up the phone.

“It’s fine, baby! Just a friend of Momma’s from work having a bit of a crisis” she replied, “Go back to bed.”

“I didn’t know you had kids” Clint said, finally taking in the photographs and drawings that covered the walls and the big refrigerator.

“Two; Stacy’s 10 and Mandy’s 7” she saw the tightening in his jaw “Same ages that Cooper and Lila would be now.”

That was what broke him, hearing someone else acknowledge his family had existed; that they weren’t just figments of a nightmare he’d been living for the past two years.  Jessica quietly placed a box of tissues beside him and got on with fixing the coffee until his tears subsided.

“There are nights I’ve lain awake imagining what you must have been feeling, what you were going through.” She said, as she handed him his coffee. “I don’t blame you for what you’ve done. If someone hurt my girls I’d go to any length to make them pay; but you have to stop pretending to be strong all the time. It’s not… it’s not weakness to let the people who care about you see that you’re vulnerable.”

Clint stared down at his coffee

“What about the others, do they blame me?”  He wouldn’t be surprised; doing what he did, he might as well have spat in their faces.  All of them were there for him and he’d…

“They’re trying hard not to” she had to be honest with him about what he was likely to face “but I can’t guarantee it’s all going to be smiles and hugs when they see you again.  You hurt Steve and Bucky pretty badly, I think they were looking forward to going against Rumlow alongside you.”

“Awww, Christ!” he buried his face in his hands “I’ve really screwed everything up big-time, haven’t I?”

“Not everything can be solved with the right kind of arrow” Jessica laid a hand gently on his shoulder “All I care about just now is you and Sara; you’ve gone through more pain that anyone should ever have to face and you both deserve a little peace.”

Clint looked up at her

“Sara… How is she?”

“She misses you terribly” Jessica sighed “She thinks you hate her for what she did; and that she’s to blame for pushing you over the edge.”

“I couldn’t ever hate her” Clint said, staring down at his hands, starting to shake again at the memory of them covered in Rumlow’s blood “She’s all I got. The only… the only good thing I got left in this life and I… I ran from her again, when she needed me more than ever.”

“She needs to hear you say that” Jessica handed him the box of tissues again “and when Bruce gets here we’re going to figure out a way to fix this mess.”

They stayed in the kitchen, talking quietly about strangely normal things, until a soft knock at the front door announced Bruce’s arrival.  Clint stood, apprehensive and uncertain about how the scientist was going to react.  He was half expecting Hulk to come bursting through the door and ‘smash’, instead he found himself enveloped in a massive bear-hug.

“You stupid, stupid, bastard!” gasped Bruce with exasperated affection once he could find his breath again “You ever run like this again and… well, the Other Guy might have something to say about it!”

“Bruce, I’m sorry… I shoulda…” was all Clint managed to say.  Every time he’d hit rock bottom, Bruce had been there with an understanding word or a sympathetic gesture; never looking for anything back other than the pleasure of being able to give friendship.  Perhaps spending so long on his own had given him a deeper appreciation of what it meant to need a friend.

“Yeah, you shoulda” Bruce kept an arm around his friend’s shoulders and guided him into the living room “Now let’s start sorting all this out.”

Clint glanced from one to the other as Jessica handed Bruce his drink and settled down into the armchair across from them.

“How long have you two…?” Jessica looked at Bruce with a smile and an expression that said, ‘told you’

“What gave it away?” she asked.  Clint nodded at the mug in Bruce’s hand

“The chai, you didn’t ask what he wanted and you had all the fixings in the kitchen. I saw ‘em when you were making coffee.  Bruce made some for me once” he looked at his friend and grinned, for a moment Bruce saw a hint of the old Barton twinkle in his eyes “plus you know your way around the house too well.”

“About two years” Bruce admitted “Even Tony hasn’t guessed.  Jess and I like to keep our private lives private.”

A few hours ago, Clint would have been surprised; but a couple of hours talking to the ‘real’ Jessica Palmer made him understand how Bruce could have been attracted to this warm-hearted, strong willed woman. 

“I’m glad” Clint said with a quiet sincerity “You deserve a bit of happiness.”

“So do you, Clint” Bruce replied earnestly “Come back to the Tower with me, speak to Sara, be with her; then we deal with the others.”

Clint felt the anxiety rising up in him again, the smell of blood, fear and shit in his nostrils.

“I found my monster, Bruce, I let him out…” his voice trembled “If Sara senses that…”

“Then the two of you are going to have a very long, difficult conversation” Jessica said bluntly “But if you really want to see her again that’s a price you have to be willing to pay.”

Now was the best time, Bruce assured him.  Steve, Bucky and Natasha were still over with Coulson’s team near the West Coast, getting a fix on Garrett, while Tony was in Washington trying to trace rumours of some other S.H.I.E.L.D. faction that had survived the Fall.  Only this new guy, Sam, together with Pepper and Beth were at the Penthouse right now.  Thor was expected back from Sweden ‘sometime soon’ but the Asgardian’s timekeeping could be a bit erratic.  He could probably expect a talking to from Pepper, but they could get him and Sara reunited before the others returned.

“Sam?” asked Clint, his brows furrowing, the name rang a bell “Is that…?”

“The trauma counsellor friend of Steve’s, the one you used to tell Sara you were seeing when you were really going off on ten-mile runs.”  Bruce said with a wry smile “Even back then you were still a stubborn asshole when it came to getting help.”

Bruce squeezed Clint’s shoulder as he saw the man slump in embarrassment

“Hey, don’t worry man. You keep our secret and we’ll keep yours.”

“I’ll deal with Beth” Jessica promised him “But she might not be as big a problem as you think.  She’s more worried about Sara than anything else.”

“I kinda agree with her most of the time” Clint admitted glumly “I been nothing but bad luck for Sara.”

“Why don’t you try letting Sara decide what she thinks?” suggested Bruce “It would make a nice change and the results may surprise you.”

###

They’d moved her into the Recovery Suite. Less clinical than the main med-bay and designed originally for a convalescing Tony Stark it combined optimum comfort and discreet medical observation.  Sara was gradually spending more time out of bed now, as her injuries healed and her body regained its strength, but tiredness still came quickly and the pain wasn’t entirely gone.  It certainly wasn’t the worst place to recover but it felt like she was going to be here forever. 

She’d not slept well the last few nights, her dreams full of blood and pain; images of Rumlow’s face.  The counsellor assured her they were normal anxiety dreams but in her heart, she knew different.  After one of the, Sara had tried to reach out and find Clint’s mind but the effort had exhausted her to the point of collapse and Bruce had cautioned her against any further attempts while she was recovering.  She couldn’t recall any dreams from last night, but she’d still woken early.  It was nice just to curl up on the big couch by the panoramic windows and watch the morning light creep over the city, letting herself drift into a pleasant drowse. 

She woke to find Bruce crouched beside her, gently shaking her awake.  That was a surprise, Bruce was a night owl by nature and rarely up this early, assuming it was early.

“Bruce? How long have I been asleep?” she asked

“It’s just gone 6am” he told her “But there’s someone here I think you might want to see.”

He nodded towards the doorway and she turned to look. Clint stood there, looking so sad and lost, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans.

“I’m… I’m sorry, baby” he said softly “I left you on your own, I shoulda been here for you all this time.”

“Clint…” Sara was barely able to choke out his name through the storm of emotions surging up inside her.  It took him four fast strides to cross the room and wrap his arms around her “Clint, I sorry, this is all my fault.  I shouldn’t have.”

“Awww, baby, no… please.” He sobbed “Ain’t your fault.  I shoulda seen how sad you were, never gone away from you.  They coulda run that mission without me….”

She tried to speak again but he silenced her with a kiss, he couldn’t remember the last time he kissed her or held her close in his arms like this.

“Don’t say anything Sara, please; just hold me.  Let me know you’re still here and I ain’t dreaming.”

Her feelings had gone far beyond words anyway and she clung to him, her fingers digging into his arms, determined never to let go; letting the touch of his lips numb her pain and misery

Bruce quietly closed the door behind him

“Jarvis? Mr Barton and Miss Wolfe are to have absolute privacy until they request otherwise, even from Mr Stark, is that understood?”

“Understood, Dr Banner.” The UI’s smooth, neutral, voice sounded almost approving.

**Epilogue**

_He wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking along this trail, it was hard going underfoot; the ground soft and turfy, with few features visible through the thick, rolling, fog that shrouded everything in a grey haze. Was he on a mission, separated from the rest of the team? The kit he was wearing suggested that, but where the hell was he?  He could hear sounds, catch hints of movement, but they vanished as soon as he moved towards them.  He checked his compass again but the needle kept rotating slowly, never coming to rest.  No radio, no map, no sense of direction, this was some fucked-up place._

_He could see a figure heading towards him on the trail up ahead, signalling him, light wasn’t good but there was something familiar about it.  One of the team must’ve double back for him. He returned the signal and jogged ahead to meet him.   He froze as the man came into full view, desert combats and close cropped hair; this was some USMC grunt, not a STRIKE Commando.  He reached for the sheath-knife at his belt but it was gone. Where the fuck were his weapons?_

_The guy came closer, features becoming clearer in the half-light.  Cold grey eyes in a boyish face. A sudden memory of a stinking room and those grey eyes boring into his as the pain got worse._

_“Barton!” he spat_

_The man ran his hand over his close-cropped hair and laughed._

_“Not Barton, that ain’t my name” he recognised the voice, but not the freaky sing-song lilt “She gave me my name when she took the hurt away.”_

_He raised his head and sniffed at the air like a wolf preparing for the chase_

_“I know your name, Big Bad Brock, and I can smell her on you.” Rumlow took a step backwards, the ground sucking at his boots, “Lovely Sara took the hurt away but then you hurt her. Now lonely Ronin’s gonna make you hurt forever.”_

_Ronin came closer, teeth lengthening and sharpening as he grinned, eyes burning with an ice-blue fire_

_“Run, Rabbit! Run!”_

 

 

 


	33. Endings and Beginings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truths are shared, relationships are reforged and new potential allies, or enemies, begin to make their move.  
> Clint and Sara start coming to terms with being back together, and what that may mean for them, while Clint confesses to Sara the brutal event that gave birth to Ronin.  
> Tony ponders the challenge of letting the others know that Clint is back, and what a revelation from Coulson may mean.  
> Bobbi and Raina begin two very different journeys with unpredictable ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Referenced male rape  
> Reviews and comments welcome

Sara woke just before sunrise.  In the faint, grey, predawn light she could see Clint curled up in the big armchair beside the bed.  To the casual observer he appeared fast asleep, but she could tell from the way he held himself that he was wide awake and watching.

"Have you slept at all?" Clint didn't react to her voice with any surprise, probably aware she was waking well before her eyes opened. He shook his head 

"The dreams are back."

Maybe they never really got rid of what Loki did to him, or perhaps the sceptre had just woken a monster already inside him, but every time he slipped across the border into sleep it was all there; the screams, the stink of blood and a grotesque sense of arousal that forced him back into waking. Sara stretched out her hand towards him

"Come and lie down with me, please?" she asked "It might make you feel better"

Clint hesitated, then pulled off his sneakers and lay down on the bed beside her. Sara slipped her arms around him and nestled up close, resting her head on his chest. He kissed the top of her head gently, breathing in the scent of roses and myrrh clinging to her hair. They hadn't spoken much in the 24 hours since Bruce brought him back, but she hadn't driven him away and still welcomed his closeness.  Neither of them were ready for words yet.

"When did you last take your hearing aids out?" The sudden normality of her question caught him by surprise 

"Dunno. Three, maybe four, days." He muttered.

Sara sat up with a cluck of annoyance 

"You know that just irritates your ears" she said reproachfully "Here, let me! The last thing you need right now is an infection"

Clint opened his mouth to protest as she reached for his ear but subsided when he saw the determined look on her face, allowing her to remove his hearing aids with deft, gentle fingers. Normally he hated having his ears touched, resenting his deafness and the stupid accident that caused it. Letting Sara do this had been one of their intimate little rituals back when things had been happy, a sign of love and trust, and he couldn't resist groaning softly at her touch and the cool, soothing, sensation of the eardrops. Once finished, Sara took his face in her hands and kissed him.

'Sleep now' she signed 'You're safe here'

Clint laid his head down on her breast, finding comfort in feeling the rhythm of her heart through the humming and hissing that filled his ears. Sara held him close as his trembling finally subsided and he slid into the deep, dreamless, sleep his body and mind craved.

He would be asleep for hours, strained to the point of collapse. Sara carefully crept out of bed then headed down to the Penthouse living area. Comfortable though the convalescent suite was, she needed to get out of there, even if only for a short while, and remind herself there was a world beyond its tastefully pastel walls.

Despite the early hour, she wasn't surprised to see Tony there, or that he had a drink in his hand. 

"I've not been to bed yet, so technically it's a nightcap!" His smirk was a touch defensive "How is he?"

Tony had got back from Washington yesterday evening and appeared remarkably unruffled by Clint's unexpected presence or by the events that preceded it.  Relief over his friend's return, and concern for his wellbeing, outweighed any other consideration for now.

"He's scared, lost, and feels like he's betrayed everyone who cares about him" Sara switched on the kettle and took a mug from the cupboard "I thought recovering his memories would help to heal him, but it just seems to be making the pain worse."

"Do you feel betrayed?" Tony set down his glass and joined her in the kitchen, taking out a mug for himself. Tea was probably a better option than more whisky, he still had miles to go before he could sleep. "I know I did, for a while, but then I reminded myself of everything that's happened to him and questioned if I would have done anything different."

"I'm afraid for him. I was scared I might never see him again if that... that monster got his claws into him." She paused as the kettle boiled and she filled their mugs "and I'm scared of what's going to happen to him now. Be honest with me, Tony; how much trouble is he in?"

Tony took a deep breath, this was a conversation he hoped they could avoid but Sara wasn't going to be satisfied with evasion or comfortable lies.  

"We should probably be sitting down for this..." Taking his tea, Tony guided Sara towards the couches; mindful that she was still unsteady on her feet. His lawyers had been busy arguing that Clint received a full pardon when he joined SHIELD, not a conditional one, and therefore the reactivating of the warrants when he went 'absent' violated his constitutional rights.  They were making a strong case, but it wasn’t a foregone conclusion.  In the wake of its fall, the legality of many of the intelligence organisation’s actions were under question; the unilateral pardoning of specialists with a criminal past among them. 

As for the remnants of S.H.I.E.L.D?  Coulson wouldn’t be a problem, he understood Clint and his situation too well for that.  There was another faction though, the "Real S.H.I.E.L.D.", which appeared to enjoy some covert government sanction, and considered the former Avenger a threat that needed to be neutralised. "...fortunately, the FBI investigation into Ward hasn't picked up Clint's scent but, if they do and he’s caught; then he's looking at the Federal death penalty."

Sara's knuckles whitened, gripping her tea tighter to try and stop her hands from shaking. She knew Clint’s past crimes made that a possibility but her mind had always shied away from the cold truth of what that meant.

"You mean they'll stick a needle in his arm and pump him full of poison while a selection of worthy witnesses look on?"

Tony took the mug from her and set it down on the table; taking her hands in his with a fond, encouraging smile

"I'm not... we're not going to let that happen! I don't care what it takes, we'll keep our Pigeon safe."

Sara leaned forward and kissed Tony’s cheek, comforted by his presence and the generous warmth he took such pains to hide. 

"I'm so grateful for everything you've done; everything you're doing. I don't know what I would do without you and Pepper to keep me stable."

"You're like a daughter to me, Sara. That's not something I say lightly" for once there was no hint of mockery or levity about the billionaire.  His expression was steady and loving, his customary emotional inhibitions briefly set aside "And I'm not prepared to let the two of you suffer any more. I have a few ideas…"

Tony’s ideas had some merit, but it was clear from the look on Sara’s face that she remained dubious

“I’m not sure if Clint will go along with that, he might see it as running away again.”

“He’s in no condition to do anything more than try to recover, going by what Sam and Jessica say.” Tony replied, “he’s certainly not fit for combat or any sort of active duties.  We’ll need to discuss this properly when the others get back but he ought to think about it seriously.”

Sara knew Tony wanted her to persuade him.  Clint could be mulishly stubborn, especially when he wanted to avoid appearing weak or vulnerable to outsiders.  With her, he wasn’t afraid to let his defences down and allow the wounds to show. Further discussion was cut short as Lucky came racing in from the lobby, yipping in excitement at the sight of Sara. Beth followed behind him at a more sedate pace, his leash dangling from her hand.

“Good to see you up and about!” she put her coat over the back of a chair and began to fix coffee “Lucky seems pleased as well”

Sara laughed as the dog licked and snuffled at her hands; wuffing joyfully at catching Master’s scent.  She fingered the purple paisley bandana about his neck and Beth smiled, catching Tony’s eye; neither of them had heard Sara laugh for a long time.

“When did he get this?” Sara asked, looking up at her sister. Beth shrugged

“A few days ago. Dogs with bandanas are intrinsically cool and Clint seems to like purple, so...”

Sara smiled and reached out towards Beth, understanding what her sister was trying to convey with this simple gesture.  Beth came over and embraced her, kissing her forehead

“You don’t know how much it means to hear you laugh again, Sara; and I’m sorry I haven’t always been as understanding as I should”

“I could say the same” Sara said, resting her head against Beth’s shoulder “I’ve caused you so much worry...”

Tony discreetly withdrew, leaving the sisters to talk.  It looked like things were going to get emotional and he’d done his quota for the day. Once safely secluded in his study he put his feet up and sighed.  He couldn’t delay calling Natasha any longer or she would skin him alive, that would mean Ice-Cap and Tin Man as well, together with the whole fruit-basket of issues that would entail. There was one thing Coulson had warned him about, something he hadn’t shared with Sara.  The FBI Agent leading the Ward investigation was a Charles Bernard ‘call me Barney’ Barton, Clint’s older brother. 

This had been as much of a surprise to Coulson as to Tony.  That Clint had never mentioned a brother to anyone suggested a lot about that relationship.  At least his involvement meant that Clint wasn’t on the radar where Ward was concerned, but according to Phil the guy had been asking some leading questions ‘off the record’. Nothing to cause immediate alarm, but sufficient to suggest this agent Barton had his own agenda that may well have nothing to do with the case or his agency. 

Tony sighed and picked up his phone.  Had anything ever been simple?

###

Clint tilted his head to one side as Sara fitted his hearing aids back in, almost gritting his teeth as she kissed the tip of his ear. The affectionate ordinariness of it felt wrong after everything he’d done and put her through and he turned slightly to look at her

“Why don’t you hate me?”

“Do you want me to?”

She kissed his ear again and lay back on the bed, drawing him down to lie beside her.  He shook his head

“I love you, Sara.  Since the moment I first saw you I wanted to be with you, but I’ve given you nothing but pain. You deserve a lot better than me; I’ve hurt you so badly”

“That’s not true, you know it isn’t” she stroked his face lightly with her fingers, tracing the rugged, weathered lines that felt deeper and sharper than she remembered “You always made me happy, the pain isn’t your doing.”

They lay together in silence for a while.  Sara had always kept her promise never to intrude on Clint’s mind without his permission, but some thoughts were so loud they echoed in her head.

“Tell me about it” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear “Tell me about what made you Ronin…”

Clint’s body tightened in her arms, then relaxed with a long sigh. She needed, deserved, to hear this; maybe she was the only person in the world who could understand.  She’d told him of her dreams, the grey-eyed lover who’d come to her in the night; how she’d known the name Ronin long before his past came out.  It scared him, bringing back memories of the flame-haired succubus who’d haunted his nights in Peshawar as he tried to stay one step ahead of pursuit, but bound him to her as well.  Something had pulled them together long before that muggy July evening when Lucky had gone racing towards the smell of Dim Sum wafting from Galleria Rossi.

"I... I was 20 when it happened to me..." he said at last, voice trembling with the apprehension of admitting something he'd never told anyone before, not even Natasha.

USMC Private First Class Barton, Clinton Francis, hadn't been the most popular guy on base; a loner who over-compensated for his lack of 'team spirit' and social skills with an arrogant, posturing, macho attitude.  He was already a top-class marksman and made sure everyone knew it.  Sgt Rooney and Cpl Haus inviting him to join them for a weekend's R & R in Panama City came as a surprise, more welcome than he would have admitted.

Today, he might have noticed the glances that passed between the two bigger men as they did the rounds of the strip clubs, or the way that he was drinking three beers to every one of theirs, but at the time he was just enjoying doing buddy stuff with his new buddies.  Clint had never been to high school but, as he roughhoused and wrestled with the two of them on the way back to the hotel, he imagined this must be what being friends with the popular kids was like. 

He'd laughed and joked when Haus grabbed his hardening cock through his jeans. If that was how the night was gonna end up; well, wouldn't be the first time he'd done it with a guy and what happens on leave...

He'd still been laughing in the hotel room when Haus flipped him onto his stomach and started tugging at his pants. Then came the sudden weight of Rooney's knees on his shoulders, pinning him down and pressing his face into the mattress; followed by the ripping, searing, agony of Haus forcing his way inside.

'Let's show this punk-ass faggot what a real man feels like!" Rooney had scoffed as Clint struggled in a frantic attempt to fight off the two men, his howls of pain and humiliation muffled by the stale sock they stuffed into his mouth. It wasn't about sex, although Haus and Rooney took turns at him until it was almost light outside, they were showing him he was just a worthless piece of crap; that they could do this because they were bigger and stronger, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. 

When they'd finally finished, Haus threw a crumpled $10 bill onto the bed where he lay bleeding and crying.

'Cheapest piece of ass in town' he laughed as they left him there.

Clint fell silent and Sara felt him shaking; a constant tremor just under his skin. She said nothing, cradling his head against her breast. 

"I just... I need you to know; that I understand a bit of what you're going through. I wish... I wish maybe I told you earlier." he managed to say eventually. 

Two days later, Cpl Haus and Sgt Rooney were dead; brains splattered over a rest room floor and Clint was heading further south. He had enough bad Spanish to get by and an idea of where a man with a good aim could find work.

Only one thing mattered, the world was never gonna take a shit on Clint Barton again! 

It was a Cartel boss with a taste for Samurai movies who nicknamed him Ronin; a man without master or honour, killing only for pay. The money didn't matter so much, it was the thrill of the impossible shot that really motivated him. By his mid-20s he was working freelance, and rumours of the handsome young killer with the cold grey eyes started to filter through the intelligence community. He worked alone and lived the same way, never staying in the same place for long and never getting involved with anyone. That all changed when he met Laura...

Clint stopped mid-sentence and the shaking started again. Sara was still holding him, stroking his hair, listening in tearful silence as her lover confessed the history of violence and abuse that turned a lonely and withdrawn young man into a ruthless and efficient killer. 

"It's okay to talk about Laura" she said softly "You love her, and I don't want you to feel you have to hide that from me. You don't have to hide anything..."

"I can't... still hurts too much" he murmured "Sara, there's things... things I've done.  You might never want to look at m..."

She silenced him with a kiss 

"I'm never going to turn away from you, Hawk. I'm sorry for what I did, it was cowardly and it hurt you so much..."

"Don't... Sara, please don't blame yourself for that. I know what it’s like to feel you're at the end of the road. I been there myself so please, please don’t…" his hand moved to touch her hair then froze as he remembered what Beth told him. 

"It's all right" she assured him, taking his hand in hers "I want you to."

She rested her head against Clint's, letting his careful, almost timid, caress comb away the memory of Rumlow's clutching fingers

“I love you, Sara, and I’m sorry I brought all this trouble down on you”

Sara took his hand in hers and kissed his fingers. Clint tensed again, remembering them covered in Rumlow’s blood. Part of him wanted that to be just another nightmare, one from which he was finally waking up with Sara’s arms around him. Even he couldn’t manage that level of self-deception.

“Trouble would have come for me anyway.  Please, Clint, you have to stop punishing yourself for everything that’s happened.”

He sat up with a deep sigh

“Seems like I got plenty to be punished for. I made some real bad choices, and I gotta faceup to the consequences but I’m so tired, Sara.  I just want it all to stop and let me rest.”

Sara sat up as well, resting her head against his shoulder and staring out at the reflections of the sunset glittering off the Manhattan skyline.  

“I’m here for you, always,” she promised “and I’m not going to let anything tear us apart again.”

_Please, God, give us both a little peace!_

###

Her flight would be boarding in 30 minutes and it would be at least 72 hours before Garrett realised that she wouldn’t be returning from this ‘business trip’.  John Garrett had outlived Raina’s usefulness the moment he let Brock Rumlow lay hands on Sara; the man’s ‘Vision of Human Potential’ had proven to be just another mundane power-grab, with no true concept of what he had let slip out of his grasp.  Garrett, HYDRA, even Calvin, didn’t understand what Sara von Strucker was or the power she might command but Raina knew of people who would; and she knew where to find them.

“Unless there’s a Kathmandu in Rhode Island, you’re not planning on being back by Friday”

Raina wasn’t surprised to hear Bobbi Morse’s voice behind her, or to see that the woman was now a dark blonde and had a travel bag over her shoulder.

“I told John I had to contact a potential ally.  I was just a bit vague about where, or whether they would be his allies.”

“And it puts you several time-zones away when Captain America comes knocking at Garrett’s door with half of what’s left of S.H.I.E.L.D. behind him.”

Raina gave an elegantly indifferent shrug

“There’s a reason they call him the First Avenger; I understand he’s quite fond of the Baroness Sara and may want to have a word about how John treats his house-guests.  You appear to have come to the same conclusion yourself.”

Bobbi glanced down at her boarding pass

“New York is far enough for me, I’m better at not burning bridges than John is; and there’s an old friend there I think I should catch up with.”

“He’s not Ronin any more, or Hawkeye” Raina cautioned her “Barton’s becoming something new, something very dangerous, and he’s going to wake up to that soon.”

“I like dangerous men, haven’t you noticed?” Bobbi adjusted her bag as an announcement came over the tannoy “That’s my flight.  Something tells me this isn’t the last time our paths are going to cross.”

Raina waited until Bobbi was well through the departure gate before she allowed herself to relax. Opening her purse, she took out the slim strip of parchment that had taken her so long to get.  Two words that would be the key to the answers she wanted and the truth about Sara von Strucker

**_Kamar Taj_ **

 

 


	34. Consequences Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All actions have their consequences and Clint steels himself to face the results of his.  
> Sam uses a touch of guile to manoeuvre Clint into getting the help he needs while, not too far away, Bobbi Morse considers her own options.  
> Tony has some mixed news to break and Phil Coulson’s arrival brings certain matters to a close.  
> As Clint faces a life without S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers, a message comes from an unexpected source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> Reviews and comments welcome

Sam was used to having the gym to himself first thing in the morning.  Cap preferred to start his days with a run and Natasha wasn’t much of an early bird, but hearing a soft rhythmic thwacking coming from the sparring room wasn’t a surprise. He could easily guess who it was and had been counting on this.

Clint, in shorts and fingerless sparring gloves, laid into one of the training dummies with fists, elbows, knees and feet; moving fast and light around it like a champion boxer.  The man’s speed and form were impressive, as was the attention he paid to his surroundings. Most of the time he was positioned to have a clear view of the doors, or see them clearly in the mirrors lining the walls.  Sam knew that, even though the bulk of his attention concentrated on the kicks and punches raining down on the dummy, Clint was fully aware of his presence

“This ain’t an exhibition match” Clint growled, he hated being watched while he trained “Suit up or clear out!”

Sam grinned, pulling a roll of tape from his gym bag

“Sure you don’t fancy sparring with something that hits back?”

Three hard kicks in quick succession sent the training dummy spinning 360 degrees on its base

“Kinda working through some issues, if you hadn’t noticed.” Clint warned him, tempted by the idea but wary of this virtual stranger “Ain’t in the mood to pull punches”

“Didn’t ask you to!” Sam started strapping up his hands “Let’s make it interesting; you have to come to a counselling session for every hit I get in.  No excuses.”

Clint glared at him, that was a dirty move.  He couldn’t refuse the challenge but he’d meet it on his own terms

“Fine! But I get to skip one for every hit I make.  No comebacks. Jarvis can keep score...”

The bout was fast and hard, neither man holding back.  Both would be sporting bruises later. Finally, Sam was on his back, the heel of Clint’s hand so close to his nose he could count the calluses on the archer’s fingers.

“Think we can call that a clear kill!” Clint helped Sam to his feet back with an air of smug satisfaction “Jarvis, what’s the score?”

“You owe Sgt Wilson eight counselling sessions, Mr Barton” the UI said smoothly “I have checked your respective calendars and scheduled the first one for 11am tomorrow.”

“Awww Jarvis, you’re shitting me!” Clint groaned, his face falling.

“My calculations are quite precise, sir, there is no margin for error. “

It shouldn’t be possible, but the UI sounded mildly offended.  Clint grabbed his towel and kitbag.

“Fine, we got a deal” he conceded gracelessly, heading to the shower.

Sam shook his head, laughing softly to himself as he unstrapped his hands. It was a mean trick, but guys like Barton were the worst when it came to getting help.  Luckily, he had plenty experience when it came to wrangling ornery vets.

“Thanks, Jarvis” 

“My pleasure, Sgt Wilson” The UI sounded quite satisfied with itself “You are sure eight sessions will be sufficient to convince Agent Barton that the counselling sessions are of value?”

“Quite sure, J-Man! I owe you one” Sam threw the balled-up tape into the bin with a contented grin.  He’d have some good news for Sara when he spoke to her later.

###

Bobbi Morse sometimes regretted not putting a bullet into Robert Gonzales when she had the chance. That man had no imagination or vision, although that had probably saved his life.  His position on the _Iliad_ had been a prestigious sinecure, little more than a glorified caretaker, suitable for a senior agent with ability but none of the flair or talent that would qualify him for the Hub or the Triskelion.

If it hadn’t been for her and Mack making their own call Gonzales would have scuttled the ship, taking out traitors and loyalists alike, and deprived S.H.I.E.L.D. of its only remaining significant material asset. Even this “S.H.I.E.L.D. Council” supposed to prevent any one person gaining the level of control Fury enjoyed was just a watered-down version of the defunct World Security Council, and everyone knew how well that worked.

No imagination. A bunch of second class agents not significant enough to be taken out in the first strike.

At least Coulson was learning from the old mistakes, taking the fight to HYDRA instead of sitting in international waters fretting about traitors in the ranks. Despite her reservations, she couldn’t help admiring him.  Garrett had bitten off more than he could chew there

She stirred her coffee and let her eyes wander up the sleek curves of Stark Tower. ‘Avengers Tower’, New Yorkers called it these days; Stark’s architectural ego-trip transformed into an icon of hope. Coulson had been smart enough to strike a deal with the Avengers. Not surprising, the Initiative had been his baby as much as Fury’s. The rest of S.H.I.E.L.D., Gonzales included, had been less enthusiastic.  A collection of ‘High-profile freaks’ didn’t fit in with standard S.H.I.E.L.D. protocols; a relic of the same hubris that led them down the path of Project Insight.

She wondered what they said about her out of earshot.  Like Barton and Romanoff, Bobbi ’Mockingbird’ Morse was an outsider; recruited because of skills that made her worth more to S.H.I.E.L.D. alive than dead.  Maybe it was the HYDRA influence that made the intelligence organisation so keen to recruit their specialists from the dark side. S.H.I.E.L.D. regulars might look down on them as potentially unreliable mavericks, but they were quick to call them in when things went sour.

Barton would remember her, their paths hadn’t crossed in S.H.I.E.L.D. but Mockingbird and Ronin had briefly been lovers, although that was a bit of a grand term for a week of non-stop fucking in a Bogota hotel room.  Bobbi smiled slightly at the memory; the guy had been insatiable, and the things he could do with that tongue!  She’d not shared that information with S.H.I.E.L.D., some things they didn’t need to know, but it made any idea of infiltrating Stark’s operation a dead loss.  She’d need a more open approach, although not without subtlety. Turning up unannounced on the doorstep wasn’t a great idea. Barton was easy to spook and justifiably paranoid after everything he’d been through, after everything S.H.I.E.L.D. had done to him.

All Gonzales saw was a rogue agent; failing to comprehend that. with the fall of SHIELD, they were all rogues now. Garrett might be borderline insane but he was right about men like him and Whitehall; they were dinosaurs, incapable of dealing with a changed world on its own terms. John just failed to realise he was making the same mistakes. Raina had seen that and cleared out, it was time for her to forge some new allegiances as well.

###

“The good news is that Ronin’s pardons are going to be allowed to stand.” Tony handed Clint his coffee. “Seems like the revocation of pardons creates some interesting constitutional issues and the Supreme Court would never uphold it.”

Clint leaned back against the worktop and began spooning sugar into his mug.  This was the first, long overdue, talk he’d had with Tony since coming back and he felt bad about having avoided the man despite his unqualified hospitality.  Beth had taken Sara out for the day, insisting on treating her to a thorough pampering at the latest fashionable spa venue.  It was good to see Sara having the confidence to begin venturing outside the Tower.  It was also clearly an unspoken suggestion that Clint ought to consider breaking his own self-imposed isolation.  He suspected this morning’s encounter with Sam wasn’t accidental, but was unsure if circumstances would allow him to honour his bet.

“So, what’s the bad news?” Clint asked, he had a fair suspicion what the answer would be.

Tony grimaced.  There was still the chance the FBI might pick up on Clint’s involvement with Ward’s escape, in which case he would almost certainly be classed as an accomplice.  Clint seemed to take that well, although hearing about his brother Barney being the lead investigator made something dark and angry flash in his eyes.  Tony decided not to pursue that line of inquiry just yet.

“…and for the icing on the cake; Steve and the others are back this evening, they’ll want to talk to you.”

“So, is it going to be some kinda intervention?” Clint’s aggressive tone and body language did nothing to hide the fear he felt at having to confront his friends after what he’d done “How’s that work? Me sitting on the naughty step while everyone talks about how they’re not angry, just very disappointed? “

Tony sighed and sat down, this was going to be a difficult day and he’d promised Pepper he would at least try to deal with it sober.

“I can’t answer for Natasha, but it’s safe to say that Steve and Bucky are more in the angry camp.”

The scenario Clint described was exactly what Tony didn’t want to see happening. There was stuff that had to be done and said, but the image of a shame-faced Clint being subjected to a barrage of criticism turned his stomach.

“Talk to Steve, much as I hate to admit it, he is the team captain.” Tony suggested “Deal with Bucky and Natasha at your own pace.  Remember I’ve got your back, and Sam and Bruce are here for you as well.  No matter what you want to believe, you’re not on your own here”

Clint stood up and walked towards the window.  He was gonna miss the view from here; Tony might not want to admit it, but even if he didn’t end up in jail there was no way he could stay on at the Tower long-term.

“You... you been a good friend, Tony. Better than I deserve.  W-will it be cool to stay until Sara’s fully recovered?”

“This is your home, Clint.  I’m not throwing you out anytime soon.  Had any more thoughts about my offer?”

Clint turned to face him with a sad look on his face and Tony felt something tear inside him

“Jetting off to your Caribbean hideaway?  Thanks for saying that, but we both know I gotta face up to what I done.  I gotta stop running, it’s done me no good and it’s damn near destroyed Sara.” Clint paused, trying to find the words he needed. “I’m done with this life, but I dunno if it’s done with me.  I never wanted any of this, any of it.  I just wanna be a normal guy.”

“That’s not possible for people like us. We’ve seen too much...”

Tony and Clint turned towards the voice.  Phil Coulson stood in the doorway, a hard and serious look on his face

“What’re you doing here?” Clint growled, before Tony could speak.

“How did you get past...?” Tony began, then sighed “Skye, of course!”

He should have guessed that Phil would be the one to deal with this mess.  The business with Ward happened on his base, his watch, and his team would bear the brunt of any consequences.  Clint was still a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, albeit rogue, and what would happen to him was ultimately up to Coulson.  He must have had an intense conversation with Steve, Bucky and Natasha to bring them on board with this.  Privately, Tony felt relieved; Steve wouldn’t have to do the hard work, just deal with the fallout, but how was Pigeon going to react? He glanced at Clint

“You cool with this?”

“Guess I have to be” Clint glared at Coulson, trying to maintain a confident front while inside his stomach churned.  If he was gonna face up to the results of his actions, might as well be now. Tony put an encouraging hand on his shoulder, the closest he usually came to hugging

“I’ll be in my study if you need me.”

Once Tony was gone Clint sat down and folded his arms across his chest

“Is this where you ask for my badge and gun? Cause I don’t think I got either anymore.”

The familiar Barton smart-mouthing couldn’t hide his blatant anxiety. Coulson was familiar with Clint’s moods and he could almost taste his fear in the air.  The man wanted to find a way to go easy on his former friend, but the Agent had a job to do.

“I’m glad to see you still have your sense of humour, because five FBI agents, good men and women, died during Ward’s escape. Even if you weren’t physically there, the information you gave provided him with a material advantage.  Senator Ward and his parents were burned alive in their home the next day.  You knew Ward was going to kill them and you let it happen.  Feel free to contradict me at any point if my assessment is inaccurate.”

Clint stared at the floor, unable to meet Phil’s gaze, wanting to say he hadn’t known, didn’t intend, for any of that to happen but his tongue wouldn’t cooperate with the lie

“Dr Palmer has given me her assessment of your mental state, she believes you weren’t in full command of your actions” Coulson continued “but I’ve known you longer than anyone else here.  I think you know full well what you were doing and didn’t give a damn; did you, Ronin?”

Clint visibly tensed at his old nickname coming up again.  Warrior without master or honour; a Colombian druglord with a thing for Japanese culture had given him the name after he gunned down a rival at his daughter’s wedding.

“I crossed the line” he muttered. There was no other answer he could give in the face of the chill in Coulson’s steady, even, voice.  Phil rarely shouted. This cold, detached, tone of disappointment was far more intimidating. There would be no way out of this, no second chances.  He could probably take out Phil, but the exits to the Tower were no doubt being watched.  Even if he got past Coulson’s people, which wasn’t guaranteed, he’d just finished telling Tony he was done running. This was something he couldn’t avoid, even if he had the energy left to try.

“Do what you gotta do, Phil, just gimme a chance to say goodbye to Sara first...”

“Crossed the line?” Phil was trying hard to keep his voice steady but Clint could hear it shake as the older man clamped down hard on his own emotional storm. “I don’t think you even remember where the line is; but there’s not going to be any goodbyes, so you can put your death wish on hold for now.  Handing you over to the FBI at this stage would create more problems than solves, for all of us, and I’m not a great believer in the value of extrajudicial execution for the sake of it. I’ve made my own mistakes that have contributed to us being here and I can’t evade that responsibility. There was a time when we were almost family, and I still want to believe you deserve better than a bullet in a basement cell.”

The men’s eyes met briefly, both thinking of Laura.  Clint knowing in his heart this was about her, and Phil doing his best to try and make amends for his failure to get to her and the children in time.

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is a reprieve or a second chance.  Your status as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is permanently revoked, if that still has any meaning for you. Show up on our radar in the wrong way and the usual sanctions will apply.”

Phil didn’t need to go into specifics. Clint had applied the ‘usual sanctions’ plenty of times in his career.

“There are some things I have to discuss with Tony.  Your status with the Avengers will be up to Captain Rogers. I believe he wishes to speak about that with you in person.” 

Coulson got up and made to leave

“Phil!” The agent paused and turned as Clint pulled a battered leather wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and offered it to him.  Phil took it, looking down at the grey metal disk with its embossed eagle design “I don’t want you to think it never meant anything to me.”

Phil held it in his hands. It was a custom among SHIELD specialists to mark a notch on the edge of their badge each time they were injured in the line of duty. The notches on Clint’s went almost three quarters of the way around. He could still recall the day he first placed in in the young Agent Barton’s hand, the look of honest pride in the man’s eyes as he accepted the symbol of the new life he was beginning. He knew that each mark on the badge could be matched up to a scar on Clint’s body.  The one for Tajikistan almost cut through the metal. Part of him wanted to hand it back, to tell Clint that he’d earned that badge a thousand times over and the bad times could never really cancel that record out, but they both knew how the ritual had to play out.

“I know what it meant to you, and what it means. I’m truly sorry it ends like this. Goodbye, Clint. Take good care of Sara.”

Clint looked up at his former friend and handler. Even if there had been a chance they could have recovered something of their old closeness he knew he’d thrown that away forever. There was one last thing he had to ask though…

“Let me help take down Garrett. I... I know I got no right to ask for this, but I can do it, you know I can”

He could see Coulson hesitate and decided to keep pushing.

“I’m still the best at what I do.  I know you got no reason to trust me, but let me have this and you’ll never hear from me again.”

Clint was right, Phil knew that well, he was the best.  That was why he’d been so keen to recruit him in the first place. Seeing Ronin in the flesh for the first time he’d been surprised how young he was, and oddly touched by the resigned, haunted look in the man’s eyes.  He sighed, the matter wasn’t really in his hands, but he couldn’t let the Clint’s plea go unanswered

“It’s Steve’s call, but I’ll speak to him. For what it’s worth, you’re right and you deserve it.”

Coulson paused, then unbuttoned his jacket and sat down opposite Clint.  It was one of his biggest tells, a sign the man had taken the place of the agent

 “I saw her, saw Sara; in that place where they had us.  She was wearing a blue evening gown and I thought she was the angel of death coming to me, but she was there to save you.  You saw her as well, didn’t you?”

Clint shook his head

“Don’t remember that, but I dreamed her in Pakistan, back when you were hunting me. What the fuck’s going on Phil?”

“When I ‘saw’ her, she called herself the Oracle and said that she spoke for the Dead.  According to Ward, Garrett called her the Oracle as well but I don’t think he understood what that meant...”

Coulson had read the Project Delphi files and what survived of Samuel and Elizabeth von Strucker’s notes. Fury had been right; a lot was missing but enough remained to indicate that their experiments had some _unconventional_ elements.

“...Sara’s more than a telepath, we both know that.  I don’t believe anyone other than the Von Struckers really knew what they were doing.  All I know for certain is that Baron von Strucker is very keen to be reunited with his cousin.”

“So that’s why you ain’t turning me in, why you’re letting me live? Because of Sara?”

“It’s not the only reason, but she’s a big part of it. This is the last order you ever get from me, Barton; protect Sara like your life depends on it.” Phil stood up, buttoning his jacket and resuming the mantle of Agent “Because, believe me, I think it does.”

Clint sat in silence as Phil went up the stairs to Tony’s study on the mezzanine floor; the door closing behind him with a _click_ that sounded a lot louder that it really was.  It shouldn’t have meant that much, handing over the badge, he wasn’t even sure why he’d kept it. As far as he was concerned, S.H.I.E.L.D. had lost any meaning for him the night, eighteen months ago, when he fled into the dark; mind reeling at what he’d done and had been done to him.  It wasn’t as if he even needed it as a reminder, he just had to take his shirt off and read the record marked deep into his skin. Clint couldn’t explain why, but handing his badge over to Phil left him feeling empty and afraid.  S.H.I.E.L.D had let him go, and he didn’t need Steve to explain to him in pained, carefully chosen, words that his time as an Avenger was well and truly over.  Hawkeye was gone, he was just plain Clint Barton but he had no idea who that man was or what was going to happen to him.  If he was lucky, they’d let him help deal with Garrett but after that…?

Maybe he should consider asking Sam to bring their first session forward to this afternoon.

He pulled his phone out and stared at the screen.  Two messages; one from Sara, letting him know she and Beth would be home by 6 and reminding him to take the ice-cream out the freezer, the other from a number he didn’t recognize.  Clint frowned, only a handful of people knew his cell-phone number and they were already stored in his contacts.  He opened the message and his frown deepened.

**We need to talk, I have intel about G. Mockingbird**

 

 

 

 


	35. Consequences Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint continues to face the consequences of his actions, past and present, as he and Steve meet up with Bobbi Morse to find out what she knows.  
> The song that the Mockingbird sings will affect all of them, one way or another…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Characters are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe and are copyright to Marvel and Disney. Their use here is for purely non-commercial entertainment purposes.  
> ***Slight Swearing  
> ***Zimny Soldat (Ru) Winter Soldier  
> Reviews and comments welcome

Natasha and Bucky were still out west with Coulson and his team.  He’d had a long, long, skype talk with Natasha; both had cried more than either would ever admit and she’d called him every variation of idiot she could imagine.  Tasha was very creative when it came to insults.  They were still far from ok, but it would do until they could talk in person.  He guessed she was waiting for him to have this chat with Steve first, so they all knew exactly what the position was.

Bucky was still maintaining radio silence.  That didn’t surprise Clint in the slightest, the two of them had been building up a trust and he’d pissed all over it.  According to Beth, Bucky hadn’t mentioned his name to her once.  She was doing her best to play nice right now so he’d no reason to doubt that.  Beth acting friendly was the thing that freaked him out the most, if he was honest.  He really appreciated her looking after Lucky and all that, but it felt like she knew he’d fucked things up so badly that she ought to go easy on him.  He’d have been happier with the familiar icy glares and barely-civil tones, it would have felt _normal_ …

So, for now, it was just him and Steve; Cap doing his best boy-scout act trying to fix everything for his team, even if some things could never be fixed.

“I’m gonna save you a whole loada embarrassment, Steve. I quit…” Clint sat on the couch in Steve’s apartment, hunched forward, hands cradling the still-unopened bottle of beer “Figure getting fired from the Avengers will look bad on my resume anyway.”

Steve had expected this, but it still stung to hear Clint utter those words; even worse to hear the humour he tried to force into them.  The quick-tongued archer had been the one of first to show him any real friendship after he came out of the ice, helping him adjust to the crazy new world he’d woken into.  It wasn’t an exaggeration to say the soldier had come to see him as a slightly kooky older brother; respecting his experience, courage and ready wit.  Seeing the wrecked, despondent, man in front of him was painful.  Maybe Natasha was right when she said none of them had ever know the real Clint Barton; but he really missed the Clint he’d known and kept hoping there was some fragment of that man remaining.

“Clint, think about what you’re doing.  It doesn’t have to play out like this…”

Clint shook his head, opening the bottle with his keychain and swigging back a mouthful

“Cap, this ain’t a botched mission we can learn from and move on.  I betrayed you guys, went to the Dark Side.  Tony says you found what was left of Rumlow; no way I can ever come back after that and we both know it.”

Steve sat down across from his friend and opened his own beer.  He didn’t particularly want one but it felt like part of a ritual that had to be followed. With Natasha’s contacts, it had been relatively easy to track down the warehouse where Rumlow met his end.  Rats, and other scavengers, had done a bit of damage but there was enough left to see that Rumlow had not died quickly and the results of Jemma’s autopsy report had been disturbing, to say the least. 

“The results of the tox-screen Bruce ran show traces of a hypnotic drug in your bloodstream.  Garrett was manipulating you; using Rumlow as bait in his own sick game…” This was the hope Steve was keeping hold of; that Clint wasn’t his own man when he did those… _things_.

Clint shrugged

“I knew what I was gonna do long before Garrett started drugging me…” he admitted “Didn’t need any hypnotic when I sprung Ward and eight people died; and I knew I was gonna kill Ward at some point along the trail.  That makes it pre-meditated homicide and material accessory to multiple homicide.  Even if I could plead undue influence, that’s three times in as many years I’ve had my skull turned into someone else’s playground.  You really want someone that unstable on the team?”

“So, what do you want, Clint?  I’m trying to throw you a line here…” the hurt in him made Steve’s words more belligerent than he intended and he took a deep breath to steady and mellow his tone “Give me something I can work with”

“I told ya, I wanna quit… but first I wanna help you take out Garrett and his operation then, when the dust’s all settled, I’m gonna take Sara somewhere far away and you never have to see or hear from me again…”

“Clint… no! You’re still my friend, I don’t want to lose you like that…” Steve put his still untouched beer down on the table, afraid he’d crush the bottle in his hands.

“Is it me you don’t wanna lose… or _Sara_?” Clint regretted those words the moment they left his mouth “Awww…. Jeez… Steve, that was a shitty thing to say.  You been like a brother to Sara these past couple of years; all that time when I was on the run.  I got no right to say crap like that… I’m sorry.”

He was sorry? Steve stared at the floor, breathing hard; struggling with the urge to scream.  Yeah, he had been there for Sara; he’d been there for her longer that Clint had ever been.  Nearly two years protecting her, watching over her, just being there like the best big brother in the world; every day his heart breaking because he was too _fucking_ decent to tell her that he loved her and he’d never abandon her the way Clint had. So, Clint was damn right, he didn’t want to lose her but, no matter how much he wanted to punch the man clear across the room just now, he didn’t want to lose him either.

“I love you both…” Steve said at last, trying to stop his voice from cracking “There’s no-one other than Bucky closer to me and, in case you haven’t noticed, I ain’t exactly overloaded with friends so the idea of two of them disappearing into nowhere ain’t something I’m gonna be very happy about…”

Clint groaned inwardly, this was turning into another classic Barton fuck-up; trying to find the easy way out and only hurting the few people who really cared about him.  He didn’t think he’d ever seen Steve this close to actual tears before.  He had to give the big guy a break

_And maybe you ought to give yourself time to think about what the fuck you’re trying to accomplish here, Barton!_

“Look, Steve, we both know I ain’t got a future with the Avengers…” Clint took a drink of beer and pulled his phone out of his shirt pocket “but let me help with Garrett and maybe we have this talk again after?”

He handed the phone to Steve, who stared down at Bobbi’s message

“What’s this?”

Clint half-grinned, almost a hint of the old Hawkeye twinkle in his eyes.

“A trap or lead; probably both… wanna go find out?”

###

“So, is this back-up or were you planning a threesome for old times’ sake?”

If Bobbi was surprised to see Steve with him she hid it well.  Clint had heard about Mockingbird being recruited a couple of years after him, but their paths never crossed in S.H.I.E.L.D. and he’d never felt the impulse to catch-up. This was the first time they’d met and spoken since that week in Bogota back in 97. She looked kinda good, he had to admit, tanned and fit; her long, chestnut hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. In designer jeans and a smart leather jacket, she could be just another soccer mom killing time in this upmarket mall.

“Skip the chat, you said you had information...” Clint grunted as the two men sat down. He wanted this over quickly, trips down memory lane weren’t part of his agenda right now.”

Bobbi sipped her coffee and cocked her head with a sly smile.

“Straight to business? And you used to be all about the build-up...” she winked at Steve “Just so you know; he’s a biter, and the safety word is Pizza.”

The Clint Barton she’d met back then was 26 but could have passed for an 18 or 19-year-old; innocent looking until you saw the ice and steel deep in his eyes. The man now sitting opposite her looked his age; handsome and fit in a rugged, country, way. The eyes were different though. It was a look she’d seen before, usually when a man was no more than a couple of steps away from blowing his brains out. She wondered which direction Clint was walking in

“Very funny, Ms Morse!” Steve retorted, determined not to be flustered by this woman “I’m more interested in how you managed to embed yourself in HYDRA so rapidly...”

“Well that’s so easy, I thought even you would have guessed!” Bobbi laughed “HYDRA recruited me...”

No one ever ‘joined’ HYDRA; by the time you learned the real agenda you were either a true believer or so far in there was no clear way out. It was fairer to say they seduced you. All their talk of security and order sounded pretty fair and reasonable until you sat down and really thought it through. Even Pierce hadn’t seen the extent to which he was being used in the final days.

Insight was the antithesis of HYDRA’s true goal; absolute power wielded with absolute secrecy.  Men like Whitehall and Von Strucker ruled from the shadows and preferred to stay there, allowing the illusion of liberal democracy to blind people to the truth. If the first phase of Insight had succeeded there was a contingency plan in place to take it down. S.H.I.E.L.D. would be damned by history and a shaken world disinclined to ask too many questions of its saviours; or the new organisations put in place to guarantee ‘it never happened again’.

“So, I messed everything up by blowing it wide open.” Steve’s smile lacked any touch of humour

“...and you just slipped out through the cracks” Clint added.

“You know what it’s like for people like us when S.H.I.E.L.D. came calling. HYDRA or not, the message was the same, ‘Comply or die’.” Bobbi shrugged and took another sip of coffee “You had your reasons for joining up and so did I; and I had my reasons for wanting to find a way out that didn’t end up with a bullet or a mind-control session.”

“I had a family...” Clint retorted, bluntly. It was difficult to read Bobbi but the look in her eyes might have been genuine sympathy

“I heard, and I’m sorry... Truly I am.  I never shared my reasons with anyone; not even S.H.I.E.L.D.  Guess my trust issues run deeper than yours...”

“Well they ain’t nothing to the trust issues any of us got now” There was a harsh, gravelly edge to Clint’s voice; he was close to losing his patience “So maybe you ought to start giving us something worthwhile?”

“Sniper on the roof?” Bobbi smiled and shook her head “No, too many people around; maybe _Zimny_ _Soldat_ lurking in a dark corner of the parking garage…?”

She tried not to laugh at the way they both tensed up but there was no hint of mockery as she continued speaking…

“You ought to get your friend into deep cover, much deeper than Avengers Tower.  You may have got the book but Whitehall has the information and the key to the cipher.  All he needs to do is apply the right trigger words and, well… You know the rest…”

“Do you… do you know the cipher key?” Steve struggled to control his voice; it had taken a supreme effort of will, and nearly getting beaten to death, to bring Bucky even fractionally back from the Winter Soldier.  If it happened again, he didn’t know what could break the hold…

Bobbi shook her head

“Not even Bakshi knows, but Whitehall did say that two other people have it; although he wasn’t kind enough to say who they were.  I would guess Dr Liszt is one of them, he was a student of Zola’s, but the third could be anyone…”

“That’s something, I guess…” Clint conceded, unwillingly “So how come you decided to jump ship?”

“That’s an ironic choice of phrase…” Bobbi laughed

…It had been easy to sell what happened on the _Iliad_ as enlightened self-interest.  Gonzales would have scuttled the ship, costing HYDRA any chance of accessing the artefact stored in its hold.  It had meant sacrificing the other HYDRA agents on board, of course, but sometimes these measures had to be taken.  Daniel Whitehall was a man who appreciated intelligence and initiative; unlike the drones who populated HYDRA’s lower levels within S.H.I.E.L.D. he did not value mindless obedience for its own sake.  He’d anticipated that some parts of the organisation would survive and try to fight back and appreciated having an agent within that shattered infrastructure; Gonzales, meanwhile, happily accepted that she could ‘embed’ herself in HYDRA and function as a mole for the ‘Real’ S.H.I.E.L.D.  It had taken some extreme actions to get both men to trust her, but what she had to protect was worth it…

“…Whitehall sent me to Garrett because he’s a maverick and a threat, although I guess you already know that; and everyone wants Project Centipede taken down, too much like a bad hangover from insight – high profile, little advantage.”

“And what if they find out about this little talk we’re having?” Steve was simultaneously fascinated and repelled by this woman.  His natural loathing for subterfuge and deceit struggling with his admiration for the way she’d survived the chaos, and used it to her advantage.

Bobbi laughed again, to any casual observer they looked like three friends enjoying a lazy afternoon latte

“Having an agent embedded with the Avengers? They’d jizz in their pants!”  She glanced over at Clint “And Gonzales wants you dead; he’s not as understanding as Coulson about some things…”

Clint sat back and folded his arms.  Steve was letting him call the shots on this one; either Cap was doing it as a sign he wanted to trust him, or he knew that Clint was better at the spy-stuff than him.

“Ok, you want in?  Just tell me this…” he uncrossed his arms and leaned forward so his face was only a few inches from hers “What’s Bobbi Morse’s big secret; what’s _so_ important, the Mockingbird will do anything to protect it?

Bobbi looked him straight in the eye; she’d anticipated this, knew what she was going to have to say…

“Her names Cassidy and she’s in Senior High, sophomore year.  That’s all either of you get just now...”

She watched Clint’s eyes widen and his jaw drop slightly as his brain swiftly did the math.  In any other circumstances, his expression would have been comedic.

“Yeah…” she nodded, no hint of the customary mocking sarcasm in her eyes “…an ass covered in hickeys wasn’t the only thing I left Bogota with.”


End file.
